


Trust & Guardianship: Of Snow

by scarletcougar



Series: Trust and Guardianship [2]
Category: Dragon Age, Dragon Age II
Genre: Adult Content, Drama, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Masturbation, Physical Abuse, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-19
Updated: 2013-08-10
Packaged: 2017-11-29 21:21:34
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 23
Words: 38,768
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/691569
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/scarletcougar/pseuds/scarletcougar
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Fall, Winter and Spring in Fereldan. The journey of Fenris and Anders as they try to grow together, be friends, avoid Wardens and Templars, and try to not just survive, but live. Will the Templars or Wardens find Anders first? Can Fenris protect him and himself?</p><p>And so we begin part two of our story. Part one focused on the great hurdles these two needed to work through in order to come together on equal ground and be ready to trust each other. Part two will focus on the building of that trust.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Highever

They wrapped cloaks about themselves, shouldered their packs and walked out with their gear. Blade of Mercy had been slung with Anders staff, still named Simplicity, wrapped together and over Fenris’ back. Anders once again dressed as a general mercenary with a simple short sword at his hip and feeling especially uncomfortable. They walked down the plank onto the dock. Fenris stopped just out of the way to adsorb the stillness of the land under his bare feet.

They had successfully fled Kirkwall. Now, to survive and find a way to get news to and from Hawke. At least, that was Fenris’ plan. He knew the best way would be to get word to Varric. But not yet. Things would need to cool down a bit in Kirkwall, perhaps give it a few more weeks before he dare send anything to Varric. Also, Fenris had no idea where they were in Fereldan or where they should go. His only lesson, as it were, had been Anders’ nervous ramblings. He would need to get a map.

“Fenris? I know you don’t much like the crowds or the risk of them touching you and bumping into you and all, but we do need some supplies. Why don’t we do that as quick as we can and… maybe get to some inn on the outskirts of town,” suggested Anders as he watched the elf.

“I want a map of Fereldan,” stated Fenris. “I do not yet know where we should go and I don’t know the lay of this land. I ran blind to Kirkwall and ended up there somewhat by chance and luck and some good memory. But I have no such for this new land.”

Anders considered this a moment before agreeing. “Alright. And we should go south. There is LOTS of land south and… hopefully not so may Wardens or Templars.” He started walking, leading the way. Fenris followed, eyes watching everyone they passed. Stance wary as a skittish and dangerous cat. Anders wove smoothly through the crowd, no differently than he would have in Kirkwall. Really, it was a great deal like Kirwall, only all on one spread out level. Procuring a map was easy. In a port like this, maps of all countries were available and often necessary for the various travelers and merchants and mercenaries. Anders handed the map to Fenris who folded it and tucked it into a belt pouch of his.

Fenris wondered why on Thedas this place was called Highever. It wasn’t on a mountain or anything… it was flat. FLAT! Not a single building was more than three floors high and those very few. At least for a port it did not stink of fish!

Anders efficiently shopped for supplies to rebuild his potions stock. He found a place to buy thick fleece blankets and heavy wool/cotton blended blankets, where he bought two of each. He bought a can of oil and wax, a bundle of candles and a box of matches, even though he could simply cast a spell to make a fire. It was sometimes too great a risk. And what if Fenris were building that fire? He stocked up on food supplies with a mental note to cast a preservation spell over them when they are safely out of sight of any possible prying eyes. He noticed Fenris lag a moment and turned back to him.

Fenris stood in awe of a stall displaying bushels and barrels and piles of perhaps a dozen different kinds of apples and things that could be made from apples. Anders smiled to himself and bought three of each kind of apple to make sure Fenris has a chance to taste each, knowing Fenris liked apples a great deal. They were so rare in Tevinter. Now he understood when Anders regarded them so nonchalantly. They were very common here. Apparently the Bannorns have many apple orchards and Fereldan does much of the exporting to other countries. Fenris asked Anders to pay for a jar of apple butter and a bottle of apple cider as well. He was curious. “How does one make butter out of apples? Is it done through magic?” Fenris munched one of the apples as they continued shopping for supplies.

“It isn’t exactly a butter,” explained Anders. “It is more like an apple spread. Uh… I am not sure of the process. It’s really good on toast thought! With tea. OH! We need to get tea!” Anders was always patient with stray questions and unafraid of saying he didn’t know. He accepted that Fenris would be innocent or even ignorant of many things that most people take for granted as common knowledge. Fenris grew up a slave in a very fancy estate and has only really been in the real world for about eight years.

After discovering that Anders could teach with such patience, unlike Hawke, Fenris felt comfortable asking Anders any sort of question that regarded the world. And thus found Anders equally good at teaching these things as he was at teaching reading and writing. He had seen Anders teach medicine to common folks in Darktown as proof. Fenris was not afraid of asking about things he did not know. How else does one learn after all?

Anders asked someone charmingly for where the clothing district was and then steered them in that direction. Inquiries were made. Haggling was done. It seemed to be a whole process of flirting between merchant and client, arguing, and charming, and deceiving back and forth until a purchase got actually made for anything in this market. The process baffled Fenris. Anders seemed relatively adept at it for some things. He was also painfully frugal.

The clothing district splayed out across four whole streets in Highever. Fenris had only ever known private tailors and the few select merchants for armor. This seemed almost unreal. “What are we seeking?”

Anders looked Fenris from top to toe before answering. “Winter clothing. You… really have no idea how cold it will get. If you were cold on the ship…. Well, it is nothing compared to midwinter here. We will both need suitable cloaks and winter protection. Warm shirts and pants. We aren’t looking for pretty. We are looking for functional.” Although the lingering looks over the finer clothing told Fenris that Anders really wished to dress fancier. Dreams they could not safely afford at the moment.

While Anders haggled a man for cloaks for them, Fenris trailed his fingers over some Dalish woven scarves. They were made from Orlesian silk but in Dalish patterns. He glanced over his shoulder to check on Anders, who still gestures wildly and argued about cost and durability. “Miss?” He quietly asked the young merchant woman. “Am I able to get a scarf with a silver piece?”

She smiled prettily back at him. “The silk scarves are three silvers each.”

He chewed his lip a moment knowing he probably should not waste his coin. “Will you accept two silvers?”

“For Orlesian silk?”

Fenris looked a bit hurt. Maybe he was not so good at this. “My apologies. I did not mean to insult your wares or your skills.”

She caved at his unconscious puppy eyes. “You are not from around here. If you tell no one, I will let one go for two silvers for you. Most warriors don’t seek something so fine unless it is for someone they care about. And you seem terribly shy about this. Is it the first gift you are giving someone?”

Fenris flushed red across his cheeks and up his ears as he nodded. He coughed and tried to get back his composure. “Do you perhaps have one that is red or brown or green with some gold in it?” She did and he bought a green scarf with golden embroidery of leaves. He rolled it tightly and put it into a belt pouch for later.

“Fenris! There you are. Ohhh… pretty scarves! No… No… we have to get supplies.” He bowed to the woman with a bit of a flourish. “I hope you are here when we make our way back so I may indulge when we are not pressed for time. Have a lovely day, miss.” Anders waved at the young girl who then gave Fenris a far too knowing look that made the elf blush all over again and quickly stride away.

Anders never fathomed taking Fenris shopping for winter clothes to be a life-threatening affair. He was drastically wrong.

“You need to try them on to see if they fit.”

“I am not changing in a strange and unprotected environment,” Fenris fumed.

“Just put the blighted pants on!” barked Anders.

“Don’t EVER tell me what to do! I am NOT your slave!”

“ARGH! Just…. Fenris! Put. Them. On.”

“No.” Fenris’s brands flare.

It was like this for every single thing Anders tried to buy to ensure the elf would not freeze to death come winter.

And then… then came socks and boots........


	2. Rough Start

And then… then came socks and boots.

Anders sighed. They had been to several shops and Fenris had balked at everything the mage had shown him. No matter what style, type of material or cost the elf had shut him down. “But Fenris, you will freeze without boots. I'd rather you not lose a toe or a foot because you're stubborn.”

Fenris shot Anders a cold black look. Anders flung up his hands in exasperation and rolled his eyes dramatically. “Fine,” grumbled the elf. “But I am not wearing them unless there is absolutely no other choice.”

Anders could have cheered!

They went into the very next warehouse. Fenris merely made a dismissive gesture at Anders. He no longer cared what they were going to get for his feet. He was out of patience and in a ripe foul mood. How was he to express to Anders that he was… nervous? So much of his fighting talent depended on how well his feet were planted, the slightest turn and dig for balance, the feel of the very smallest vibrations from the ground. He would know none of these with his feet all muffled up in footwear. It would hinder his ability to protect them. As it was, his hands were healing still. He couldn’t yet wear his clawed gauntlets.

The merchant of this warehouse brought over a selection of boots at Anders request in relatively close sizing. Anders studied one pair more closely when he heard a loud snarl and saw a lyrium blue flicker out of the corner of his eye. He dropped the boots and whirled around to shove the merchant away from Fenris. Fenris was practically unintelligible as he snarled in Tevinter. The merchant had knelt to measure Fenris’ feet and touched them. It almost cost the man his life. He cowered away as Anders got between the man and Fenris.

“Easy Fenris. He didn’t know. I didn’t know he would touch you. Look, it is ok.” Anders tried to verbally soothe as if he was approaching a furious feral cat, the kind that could claw you to death in a moment. Fenris’ lip curled up to bear a pointed tooth. The brands dimmed and he sat back down on the bench. Anders let out a relieved sigh. He then turned, took the merchant by the arm and led him away a bit to calm him down and offer him extra coin for the mistreatment. The merchant had just managed to get a rough measurement and so Anders returned with boots relatively of a good size for Fenris.

Anders shook his head and sighed again as he knelt this time at Fenris’ feet. Better he take the risk than someone innocent. He wrapped his hands over one of Fenris’ feet. As expected, the already extremely on edge elf lit up brightly with another snarl. A hand grabbed and fisted in his hair, pulling his head back. Anders saw the other hand half-phased into the Fade and poised to strike like a deadly snake. He sucked in a startled breath and stared at it a moment in fright. Then he shut his eyes and took a deep steadying breath, never letting go of that foot. “I trust you. I trust you. I trust you.” He murmured, as his mantra, before he opened his eyes to meet Fenris’.

The murmured words reached the elf and shocked him from his distressed state. Fenris stared down at Anders, his brands buzzing with threads of pain and heat and sensations that bounced memories at him just out of reach. Warm eyes held his. He unphased his hand and closed it into a fist, resting it on his thigh. The hand that was fisted in Anders' soft hair relaxed. The fingers gave a brief flex of reassurance before untangling from the blond locks to fist on his other thigh.

Anders let out a breath he had not realized he was holding. That was close. He accepted that if he was going to die, that it could be at the elf’s hand. He just would prefer that it not be in a boot warehouse and for simply putting a boot onto Fenris’ foot. It just seemed like an undignified way to go out of the world. He dropped his eyes and carefully slid the boot onto Fenris’ foot and tied it into place. He glanced up to make sure his life was still safe as he repeated with the other foot. No one from their old gang of friends would EVER believe him if he told them he got boots onto Fenris.

“Okay Fenris. Stand up.” Anders sat back on his heels.

Fenris stood and grimaced. He ground his teeth as Anders prodded the boots and checked spacing to be sure there was both room for socks and room for movement. When asked to walk, Fenris scowled death at Anders as he took a few awkward steps. He felt off balance, weighted down, about to fall.

Anders watched and thought how toddlers learning to walk must look just like this. He kept the comment to himself, along with the snickering. Fenris would have killed him for sure otherwise. “Stop thinking about each step. You know how to walk. Just pretend if you have to.”

Fenris turned and lunged to strike Anders and stumbled. He regained his balance only just. And tromped and stomped back to the bench. “Vanhedis,” he hissed. “Get these things off me.” He sat hard and held out a foot to Anders.

That Fenris was not fighting to tear them off himself told Anders that they fit just fine and were probably more comfortable that the elf was willing to admit. Anders removed the boots and promised Fenris a foot massage once they get to an inn for the night. After the purchase, they left the warehouse and walked the next couple hours to the edge of town.

There were several inns and taverns and brothels at each of the main roads into and out of Highever. The old Cousland estate had been taken over and turned into a combination of all three for those who had better coin to spend. They stayed clear of it as Templars’ horses were clearly in the stabling yard. Also, they needed to stretch their coin as long as they could. They chose a cheap inn a little ways down the southern road.

Fenris remained deeply broody and silent and angered swiftly to anyone who got too close. Anders decided it was best to get them a room and retire to it immediately for the night. They could eat from their rations and from the food they just bought for the road. Their meal was in silence and Anders started to get antsy with it, used to conversation or some form of interchange. “Fenris? Would you like that foot massage now? Or are you too hypersensitive to be touched still?”

Fenris had been sitting on one of the cots nibbling bread and staring at one of Anders' journals without really reading for about an hour. He looked up and then away guiltily. “I am not ready.”

Anders accepted that for now and chose to craft some simple potions and salves with his supplies to pass the time for the evening. He even made the lotion that would make the stubble on his face soft. He used to try real hard to grow an actual beard. It never happened. The best he ever got was that roguish shadow. At least he didn't look like a long-nosed girl.

“Mage. Why did you hold my feet before trapping them in those boots? Why didn’t you let go when I almost could have killed you?” Fenris finally broke the silence.

Anders corked a bottle and packed it away. “Because you needed to calm down and be used to the fact that those were my hands and no one else’s. If I moved away, then we would only be repeating the incident over and over. I trust that you will not kill me without very good reason.”

“You took a dangerous risk.”

Anders walked over to Fenris’ cot with a jar of healing salve and sat down close to Fenris. “I know. But no more than the risk you have taken to get me out of Kirkwall and stay by me.” He reached out slowly and took one of Fenris’ hands, gently rubbing the healing salve into it to treat the tender skin. Fenris allowed it without resistance. “I know this was hard for you. You had just put down some roots, made a home, and had something to call your own.” He rubbed salve into Fenris’ other hand and inspected it carefully as it was damaged worse than the first. He nodded more to himself, approving of how well they were healing. He took hold of both of Fenris’ hands. “My very life is in these hands. My own spirit, what little bits of me thais left. You are all I have left to hold on to, all that is left holding me. And I trust you to ever let go. ”

Fenris watched, almost dumb-struck by Anders words and actions. No, humbled. And honored. Feelings he knew came when he found a sense of purpose. But he could not entirely wrap his mind around or put into words what that purpose was.

Anders moved back a bit and started with Fenris’ feet. He carefully massaged each one thoroughly till he could hear the elf sighing deeply. “I dare say, I think I found a weakness of yours.” Fenris snatched his feet away. “Fenris. I mean in that I found something you actually like. You know, like I have a weakness for bergamot vanilla tea and purring cats. They happen to be things I really like.” The smell of the tea has been in the air all evening, along with the scents of elfroot, birch, and wintergreen. He gave Fenris a tentative smile before heading to his own cot. He removed clothing till he was down to a just a shirt and pants and waited for Fenris to look away. Then he changed into sleeping clothes for the night and climbed into his cot.

Fenris put the journal down after Anders had actually fallen asleep. He had been reading some of the snippets of when Anders had just been moved into Fenris’ manor and the emotional turmoil that swirled in the mages mind during that time. He packed the journal away and likewise prepared for sleep, after verifying the door was well locked and his blade close at hand. Fenris struggled to sleep as he strained to grasp those bits of memories he almost had earlier in the day. No luck. He gave up and busied himself with dealing with Anders who suffered a number of night terrors through the night, likely due to being in Fereldan now and sandwiched between Wardens and Templars.

Fenris did manage a good four hours sleep and woke very early in the morning to move through his exercises. He took out the scarf he bought for Anders and shook it out. He folded it loosely onto the pillow beside Anders head and then stood by the window to look down the road and to plan the first leg of their journey.

Anders woke to something tickling his nose and never saw the tiny smirk that snuck across Fenris’ lips. He opened his eyes to a rich deep forest green with golden leaves embroidered through it. His fingers slid quietly forward to verify if this was real of if he was still dreaming. Soft silk and Dalish designs. It was very much real and very beautiful. He sat up and took it into his hands. “Fenris? You got me a gift?” He draped it about his neck.

Fenris grunted and shrugged.

"Fenis... I love the gift. I really do." Anders brought the ends of the scarf up and rubbed his face into the soft Orlesian silk, woven softly like pashmina.

Fenris glanced now and then out the corner of his eye not wanting to miss Anders' delight or the blissful smile on Anders' lips. These were moments too rare to ignore. But he did have a job to do and scanned out the second floor window for any potential trouble on the street while he waited for Anders to finish dressing.

Anders approached the broody elf. "Fenris?" The elf turned to face him. "I am going to hug you," he warned.

Fenris' eyebrows shot up and he stiffened awkwardly.

It was like hugging a hard tree with stick-out branches. Anders figured that if he hugged long enough the tree would soften into maybe malleable leather. And if he hugged a bit longer, it would transfigure into an elven warrior all out of sorts with this kind of affection. Eventually, he figured, even that elven warrior would soften and hug him back.

Anders was right.


	3. Deception

Fenris, once he realized he was not going to just be released and that Anders was not going to be scared off, gave in, but only this one time! “Enough mage. We need to move on.”

Anders backed off knowing he reached the elf’s limit. He snuzzled his fancy new scarf again then packed their gear, tossing Fenris an apple for breakfast. Fenris was just about to bite into it when his brands flickered of their own accord. The apple fell to the floor. Anders looked up. Fenris threw himself against the wall beside the window. Anders, by reaction, flattened himself on the floor and watched Fenris. The warrior slid one careful step at a time farther from the window.

“Fenris,” hissed Anders. “What the Void?”

“A Magister. I remember the feel of him… from when I was first branded. Powerful. He cast an enthralling spell.”

“You can tell different mages and sense magic, enough to know what bloody spell was cast?” Anders should at least have expected it. Fenris was bodyguard to a magister. He would have to have been trained to know this. “Nevermind. Is he here for you? Is he trying to control you?”

“I’m not being controlled. I don’t think he knows I am here.” He gritted his teeth as his brands flickered again. “Festa Vass. He’ll know soon though if this keeps up.”

Anders crept to the door. Fenris reached a hand out to try to call him back. Anders hurried out and Fenris swore he would kill the mage for his recklessness. He strained his ears to try to hear what was going on, but it was either too far or too quiet even for him.

Anders headed down the stairs and out the side door to the stables. He saw a group of people not far and figured out who the magister was easily. There was a surge from Justice. This man had Fenris almost… frightened. Anders could guess that this was one of the main assistants to Danarius. However, as he eavesdropped, he learned they were not looking for an elf with silvery white markings. They were seeking some two-piece artifact that was stolen from them. They were getting ready to search the inn. Anders tensed. If they searched the inn, then they would find Fenris for sure. He took a quick peak at the group again. Justice quieted. There were too many, too many even for he and Fenris together. He crept back up to the room.

Inside he avoided the window and came to stand next to Fenris. “They are not even looking for you. They’re looking for a thingy.”

“A thingy?”

“Ya, a thingy. Some important thingy that comes with a smaller thingy.”

Fenris made a face. This was a very Merrill conversation. “I do not speak… thingy. Be more specific.”

Anders shrugged. “They are looking for some magical artifact thingy that comes in two pieces.” After another lyrium flickering that had Fenris gritting his teeth, Anders asked, “Your brands don’t light up if you are unconscious. Did you know that?”

“No, I did not. How would I if I were unconscious?”

It wasn’t entirely true, but they were not reactive like this when he was unconscious. Anders had left out the part about the magister coming to search the inn. “Will you trust me?” He didn’t wait for an answer per se, “Fenris… sleep.” He cast the spell with a single touch to Fenris’ brow and the elf sank bonelessly to the floor. The flickering abruptly ended as well. A bang of a door and a yell of surprise below could be heard. The search had begun. Anders had to act fast!

About an hour later, someone rammed open their door, busting the lock. Anders spun, spreading his arms defensively. “Please! We have nothing of use here. Please!”

Two guards stepped in and started to rummage through the backpacks. The magister stood in the doorway, and asked calmly, “What are you trying to protect? And I suggest you put the sword down very carefully.”

Knowing he was well outmatched, Anders slowly removed his huge two-hander from his back and laid it flat on the floor. “Please, my friend was injured. Our horses got spooked. I am waiting for a healer, my field medicine is just… not good enough. Please. Don’t hurt us.”

“So, you have been on the road? I am looking for an interesting neck piece with a matching ring. Some Templars stole it from my guards.” He eyed the bandaged and bloody elf on the bed and cursed something vile about elf-loving Fereldans and how they likely fuck even their dogs. Then a guard said the room was clean, they did not find it. They left to search the next room.

Anders itched to heal the stinging gashes under his glove, but he didn’t have enough time. His time was taken up neatly packing their incriminating critical items under Fenris’ mattress. He had bandaged and splinted the elf, then cut his hand on a small knife and soaked some of the bandages with his own blood. He soaked Fenris’ mouth and chin and throat as if he had been kicked in the face by the horse. Fenris’ hair was covered by a head bandage which Anders also soaked on one side with his own blood again. It was a hasty ruse and he was sure Fenris might try to kill him later for it. He watched from the window as the magister and his group left, heading to the next inn.

He eased the sleep spell off Fenris and removed his glove. Fenris woke with a start and a snarl, frantic at being bandaged and tight and confused. He glared daggers at Anders. Then he tasted and smelled the blood and saw the cuts in Anders hands. He narrowed his eyes. “Blood magic? Anders… you said you would never…”

“I didn’t. I used it to disguise you. They are gone. They searched every room for whatever it is they are looking for. They’ve now headed to the next inn. A thank you might be nice since I just saved your ass.” He poured a potion over his hand because he dared not use magic just yet, not till he was sure they were far enough away from other people.

“Get… get me out of this!”

Anders removed and salvaged what supplies as he could. The blood soaked ones were ruined though. Fenris was still too distressed and angry to say anything, but he was grateful. And amazed at Anders swift ingenuity, especially with the hiding of his brands and the hiding of their gear. He grew calm enough once they were packed to finally speak. “Mage, how did you hide Sword of Mercy?”

“I didn’t. I strapped her to my back as if she were mine.” He knew that hidden in plain sight meant it would be ignored.

“I know you are surprisingly strong for a mage, but it is too heavy even for you.”

Anders grinned sheepishly, “I drank one of the strength potions we had. I’ll have to make another. And wow! Was it vile, like licking a genlock’s ass!” He stuck out his tongue as he made a face of disgust.

Fenris paused, “You know what a genlocks ass tastes like?”

Anders quirked a look at Fenris. Did Fenris honestly not get that it was just a turn of phrase? But he caught a tiny flicker of an amused grin as Fenris walked passed him with sword and gear. Anders barked out a laugh.


	4. Off the North Road

As they hiked out along the road south, they kept fairly quiet. There were a great many travelers, and the open plains on either side of the road provided no cover. It took three days to reach the North Road. It ran West to East from Lake Calenhad to Denerim. They avoided the inns and the road entirely. They struck out south into the Bannorns.

Fenris studied his new map when they sat in their meager campsite in a scrap of woods. “The Anderfels are far north of here in the wastelands and mountains just west of Tevinter. How is it a Bann of Fereldan? It is not part of the Bannorns and is large enough to be a country all its own.”

Anders looked up from the little pot he stirred over their small fire. “Because it is such a wasteland, ruined by the Fourth Blight. It is harsh cold living with poor farming. Mostly there are sheep and goat herding up on the mountains, along with some mining. But due to their limited resources, they had to petition for inclusion under the protection of the Fereldan Kings in order to survive. They also provide the fiercest warriors on the Tevinter boarder with their severe hatred of magic and fanatic devotion to the Chantry. I hate every stone there and never want to go back.”

Anders doled out the simple stew he made. “Fenris, you’ve been real quiet since our encounter at that inn. Are you angry with me for what I did?”

“No.”

Anders rolled his eyes dramatically. “You promised me you would answer my questions.”

“And I did. I am not angry with you. Your actions were short of brilliant, even if they violated my person and even though you could have but didn’t ask my permission, just assumed that I would not agree with your plan. I am not angry with you. You saved both our lives. I would rather you have a bit more faith in me and ask me before you do something like that.” Fenris ate while Anders briefly gaped. “My silence is because I think I know who that magister was. I am sure I have seen him before. But it is part of my lost memories and that frustrates me. I am trying to remember something just beyond recollection.”

“Oh.” Anders squirmed uncomfortably a moment then turned his attention to his bowl of stew.

Fenris had been struggling internally for those memories. They were there, just on the edge…. He had been so quiet because he knew he would be snarly otherwise. They had almost a whole week without any form of argument and he hoped to keep it that way.

That night in their shared tent, the memory finally came to him.

~~~

_Danarius stroked his grey-streaked beard as he peered down from a balcony overlooking the small training arena. He turned to his guest, a magister with a thin line of a mustache, and remarked, “He is turning out to be one of my finest.”_

_“Did you breed him? May I perhaps make use of your stud for one of my vessels?” Octalian watched with appreciation._

_The elf below fought hard against the beast that Danarius had summoned. He was clawed down his forearm. His shirt was torn in several places. Blood soaked and streaked the sand dusted stone floor. His lip curled up on one side as he snarled, showing a fang. Rusty auburn hair fell into his eyes. A flick of his head flung it free from view and he charged the roaring monster again._

_Danarius smiled. “His breeding stock was very carefully chosen. Sadly, I cannot spare the stud. I have entered the stud into an experiment with a few others I think will help pave the way for a new brand of guard dog.”_

_Octalian raised a brow. “You are not the only one trying the lyrium branding of Arlathan. I have heard of others. It is a foolish waste of resources.”_

_The bearded chin nodded to someone on the other side of the area. A guard stepped from the shadows and threw in a huge and heavy two-handed broad sword nearly as tall as the young fierce elf below. “I don’t think so. You need only use the very purest of breeds with no inbreeding. Aim for solid bones, longer limbs, and no indent to the bridge of the nose. Makes for more intelligent slaves and strong fighters.”_

_“Makes for impulsive and unruly gladiators that try to turn on you. Crossbred with a half-elf or a half dwarf makes for more controllable guard dogs that are just as strong.”_

_Danarius chuckled mildly as he watched the elf below struggle with the new blade. “Makes for a willful creature yes. But my Leto will be quite the little wolf when I am done with him.”_

_“RAAAAAWWWWWRRGG!” With unreasonable determination, Leto lifted the blade and fought on. The beast hit him and he slid back several feet, leaving two bloody streaks on the stone floor. He panted hard and held the blade in one hand, crouching to touch the floor with the other for balance as he plotted how to kill the creature before him._

_“Leto?” asked Octalian. His breath caught in amazement as the elf, huge sword in one hand, managed to slice through the monster. “Hm. Leto means ‘I Kill’, does it not? Well named after all.”_

_“Little Wolf,” Danarius called down as Leto looked up. “Drop the sword and get cleaned up. You have earned the place you asked for your mother and sister to work in the main estate’s gardens.”_

_“That was not what I asked!”_

_“Leto,” Danarius’ tone darkened to something warning and dangerous._

_The elf dropped his eyes._

_“One step at a time. Please me, serve me well, and they will have their freedom.”_

_The elf raised his eyes again at the word freedom. He nodded with determination. “Am I the only one you are considering?”_

_Danarius slid a glance to Octalian before replying, “No. But only one will earn the chance to be one of my best and marked as such.”_

_“I WILL DEFEAT THEM!”_

_The older magister nodded his approval. “If you do, if you survive, then I will grant your boon.”_

_Danarius smiled to Octalian as they both turned away from the rail and entered a solarium from the balcony as if the arena did not exist. “See Octalian? All you need to control such an unruly slave is to find the one thing he values more than his own life and allow it to be the bait for your mutual goal. Leto will do anything for me for their freedom. He knows the branding might kill him. And to free two relatively useless slaves to have the very best stock for my experiment is worth the price.”_

~~~

Fenris woke suddenly panting as if he were once more back in that private arena. Octalian. That was the name of the magister. A younger man who regarded his slaves worse than Danarius and who was much crueller. However his power was not as great as Danarius’ and the man constantly tried to curry favor in some way, often seeking out artifacts for that very purpose. And so he was here in Fereldan and lost one such artifact to the Templars.

Fenris wondered if the Templars confiscated it for the protection of other or for some nefarious means of their own. He glanced over at Anders twitching in a troubling dream. It would have to be for nefarious purposes, he decided. He could never forget the scarring he saw upon Anders’ body, the word _apostate_ carved in by two different people. He turned on his side and listened to the silence of the night, then soothed Anders back to peaceful sleep.


	5. First Snow

Hiking through the Bannorns for over a week lead to a number of arguments and then to fighting. Almost came to blows, too! All because Fenris was cold. And he truly despised when Anders took that tone of superiority stating, “Well we did get you warmer clothing, even socks and boots. But nooooOOooo… You don’t want to wear them. You won’t wear ANY of the warm clothes we got you.”

Then it snowed.

It wasn’t what Fenris had expected. It started with a damp chill and a steel grey sky. Then stray bits of white fluff drifted down like a downy feathers. He tried watching them… all of them. Till he tripped and cursed at length in Arcanum. Anders coughed to prevent himself from laughing. “I think we need to set up camp. It is going to snow lots, but it won’t stay. It'll just be… messy. I’d rather be in a tent by then.” Anders wandered off to find a flatter bit of ground under the trees. Fenris ignored Anders suggestion and stood still, trying to puzzle out this experience.

Anders never thought he would se such wonderment on the elven warrior. The tough expression and gruffness lifted as Fenris's eyes grew large and wide and he opened his hands to let the flaks land. Anders retreated to set up camp to allow Fenris this moment to feel, to see, his first snowfall.

Soon the snow came down more obviously and he held out his hand to catch it and watch it melt in his palm. Anders had been right that it was just frozen water. Crystalized rain falling from the sky. For a brief moment, he forgot he was cold… till the snow fell thicker and coated his bare feet, then he hurried to help set up their camp and climb into the tent, desperately rubbing his feet with a blanket and burying himself.

“Seriously Fenris? It’s just snow. It’s pretty.” Anders peaked into the tent.

Fenris growled, “It’s cold.”

“Do you need me to come in there and warm you up?”

“NO!” Not with Anders’ silly tone of voice, Fenris didn’t.

The night progressively got colder. Anders used magic to heat food and drink inside their tent so they at least ate hot meals. Then, despite snarls and grumping, Anders checked Fenris’ ears, and fingers and toes for frostbite. “You need to bundle up. I got us winter clothing for a reason, Fenris. It will get much colder than this and for months.” He sighed.

Fenris stuffed his feet under Anders’ blanket and against his legs for warmth, then curled up and pulled the blanket over his head. Anders stretched, not finding this as bitter cold as Fenris did. He dug into their packs and pulled out the super soft socks he bought when Fenris was not looking. Then massaged Fenris’ feet as he snuck the socks on.

A white head shot up from under the blankets. He almost yelled at Anders, but… his feet were encased in warmth that was much softer than even the blankets. He wiggled his toes. Then he lowered his head back down.

“Better?” Anders asked, trying to keep the amusement from his voice.

The tuft of white poking out from under the blanket bobbed as Fenris nodded. Anders got himself comfortable then rolled over and slowly wrapped himself around the elf. Fenris tensed. It was like trying to snuggle a grumpy cat again. Anders believed no cat stayed grumpy with him. Neither did Fenris, who eventually relaxed and snuggled closer for the body heat, ear against Anders chest, soothed by a heartbeat.

It was a novelty when Fenris woke to realize that Anders was still peacefully asleep. He stretched where he was and reached a hand down to touch the soft knitted socks. Then tensed and relaxed muscle group by muscle group and moved the lyrium through his body. Anders frowned and mumbled. Fenris eased back into Anders arms. So strange to be held by another. Just held through the night. He wanted to think more about how he felt about this, but sleep stole him back into its depths.

The tent felt warmer than Fenris expected it would. He pulled away from Anders and removed his soft socks, stuffing them into his pack for safe keeping… for the next night…. Maybe. A peak out the tent flap showed the fields and trees coated in a light layer of white. He reached forward and pressed his hand into it. Yup, still cold. Yup, still wet. Great… wet AND cold. Grudgingly he admitted to himself that yes, Anders was correct. It was pretty. It shone in the morning light and sparkled. He stuck out his head a bit farther so he could look around.

Anders chastised Fenris later in the morning after packing up. “Still?! I even got you the softest ones! Fenris! Socks… boots…”

“No.”

Anders threw his arms up in defeat and picked up his back pack and staff. He shook his head expecting that it will likely be a fight EVERY night from now on through the whole winter to get Fenris into warm clothing. Fenris did not complain once though about the cold as they hiked. Anders figured it was out of determined stubbornness and maybe some spite for sneaking the socks on him last night. He decided to ignore the elf that day for as long as he could.

Every couple hours one snipped or sniped at the other.

Fenris in one of his huffs with the mage stomped farther ahead in the snow.

Anders glared magefire at the elf’s back. The thought of casting it crossed his mind. Instead, he bent down and picked up a large handful of snow and formed a ball. Then threw it with fair aim.

The snowball hit Fenris in the back of the shoulder close to his neck where bits melted and slid down both the front and the back of his armor. He spun around, sword in hand.

“You want to fight about this? Fine!” Anders dropped pack and his staff and picked up another handful of snow.

Fenris narrowed his eyes and carefully shrugged off his pack and leaned his sword against it. “You will regret this, mage.”

“HA! I doubt it! You have jabbed me a million times for YEARS! This… is… my… element. You cannot win this fight with--” His rant was cut off instantly by a snowball to the face. He landed flat on his back. He dragged the back of his hand across his mouth to wipe it away.

Fenris pounced him and pinned him to the ground. “We find an inn and a bed. No tent tonight. I am NOT arguing it. You are down. I have won.” He pulled away from Anders and collected his items.

Anders smirked secretly. Sometimes bating Fenris into something Anders wanted anyways was way too easy. If only Fenris didn’t learn so quickly how to snowball fight on the very first snow he has ever encountered. Anders decided that at the next more major snowfall, he would teach Fenris about snow fort fights.


	6. History Lessons

The day grew warm, melting the snow into a muddy, slushy mess as they hiked to what they hoped was a road or track of some kind. A scattering of buildings could be seen in the distance. Fenris had to listen to Anders lecture about Fereldan history, Warden lore, and what he remembered of the politics. It was interesting, helpful, and filled the silence.

“Fereldan was once conquered by Orlais. So most Fereldans highly dislike Orlesians who still think they ought to rule this land. It was through King Maric Theirin’s efforts that Fereldan was freed from Orlesian rule. Because Orlais was defeated, they refuse to come to the aid of Fereldan for any reason, which included the Fifth Blight. Orlais ignored even the call for Orlesian Wardens to deal with the Blight and the Archdemon. 'Never got the message' they had said. Orlais doesn’t help anyone but themselves. They even prevented communication and travel to Weisshaupt where the other largest group of Wardens were supposed to be. HA! I suppose that didn’t matter much.”

Fenris frowned, “Why?”

“Why what?”

“Why did it not matter much?”

Anders explained, “The Wardens of Weisshaupt are all Anders. They have their hands full in the Anderfels. They hold the Tevinter Border. They also deal with darkspawn all the time. The Anderfels, as a land, suffered irreparably from the Fourth Blight. Most of the land is uninhabitable.”

“People assume you are Fereldan, but you say you are from the Anderfels. I thought you were found in the Anderfels.”

“I was dragged and transported through Orlais and Nevarra to Fereldan with a whole group of other’s from the Circle of the Steppe. We stayed in Fereldan in our own little tower of terror not too far from Denerim for so many years that I just kind of picked up some of the accent and well, I prefer the people. I liked to try to get to Denerim when I ran away each time. In Denerim, you can really almost disappear. I hid in the Pearl, that’s a brothel with a bar and inn. Denerim is HUGE! But now Alistair is King there. I don’t stand a chance of hiding.” He jumped as a large mabari rose from the grasses of a nearby farm and gave them a warning growl.

Fenris gave a short bow to the dog, “Our apologies if we are on the land. We are but passing through. If you like, please help guide us to the rode.” The dog stretched and walked with them, leading them to a more sturdy path. “Thank you.” The dog turned back after that to resume his guarding.

“Oh, and the dogs. Fereldan is especially known for its dogs. Dogs are used for all sorts of things. Hunting, guarding, getting rid of vermin, sometimes as beasts of burden. But the Mabari, are really kind of unique. You already know they are very sociable and intelligent. They tend to imprint on one master and are best known as war dogs. It was they who really helped turned the tide for Fereldans in their war to be free of Orlais.”

Fenris enjoyed learning like this. That Anders never criticized a question he asked and did his best to answer it as fully as he could really helped. “Tevinter, Nevarra and the Free Marches have horses.”

“Fereldans have dogs. I suppose some have horses, but last time I was here, horses were really scarce.” Anders hummed for a little while as they walked.

“What song is that?” asked Fenris. He almost asked Anders to sing it out loud and not just hum it, but he felt silly so he didn't.

“It is one about griffons. Griffons used to be the mounts for Grey Wardens. But they went extinct sometime after the Fourth Blight. Weisshaupt still has griffon quarters and songs of the great noble creatures. They were intelligent, more so than mabari. Because they were only ever seen with the Wardens, they became part of the symbol that represents our Order. Most of us have the griffon and chalice emblem tattooed on us after we join the Order.”

Fenris did not mean for his eyes to looks sideways at Anders and rove from head to toe in veiled curiosity.

Anders tilted his head almost coyly, “I will show you when we get ourselves a room.”

Fenris snapped his head forward, trying to pretend he was not at all looking and wondering. His ears burned though. “What is the role of the Grey Wardens?” he asked as a way to divert the conversation.

“Well… do you want the history of it all or just the gist?”

Fenris thought a moment. “I want the history.”

“The First Blight happened 395 years before the Chantry calendar.” Anders pondered a way to make it make more sense to Fenris. “Hmmm… that would be… 800TE, 800 years after the founding of the Tevinter Emperium. After 90 years of fighting, the first Wardens finally discovered the method of Joining. That is a Warden secret, so please don’t ask me about it. The Wardens showed up upon their griffons to defeat the Blight at Nordbotten. That place was totally destroyed in the Second Blight. The new Orlesian Empire under the rule of Drakon came to the aid of the Wardens who were under siege at Weisshaupt. Together, the Blight was pushed back and defeated at Starkhaven in the Free Marches.”

“What does that make Sebastian?”

“Prince asshat of a place where a Blight ended.” That earned Anders a black look from Fenris. “I am not sorry. He was less nice to me than you. So much for his Chantry training in compassion. He wanted to turn me into the Templars and tried to convince everyone to let him.”

Fenris flicked his eyes up to look firmly at Anders, as he heard hints of Justice’s voice in Anders. “I meant is he some King or Emperor?”

Anders shook his head to shake loose the anger that had risen in him. “No. Starkhaven is in the Free Marches. There are no kings. Princes only. Just means he is responsible for a larger section of the Free Marches. That’s all.”

“What about the Third Blight?” Fenris wanted to steer away from Sebastian as it was triggering Justice.

“Right, role of the Wardens. The Third Blight reigned all over the Free Marches. Tevinter and Orlais tried to stay out of the fight and leave the Wardens to battle the darkspawn, but pressure brought them into the war and it ended at Hunter Fell. The Fourth Blight is the one I think you will find really interesting. It features an Elven hero as the Warden, Garahel.” Anders smiled at the clearly surprised and intrigued look on the warrior’s face.

Anders clasped his hands behind his back as he walked. “Garahel was a free elf from Starkhaven. His battles against the darkspawn were numerous and dramatic. He saved people from place to place all across the Free Marches, across Nevarra and Orlais, right up through the Anderfels to Hossberg. He then fought the darkspawn across and north, freeing Antiva where the Fourth Blight finally ended. He was one of the greatest Warden heroes. So many darkspawn died that people thought there were none left and that the darkspawn had been defeated forever. This was reinforced by the fact that a Blight seemed to happen about every 200 years. So 200 years after the Fourth Blight, nothing happened. 300 years and the Order of the Grey Wardens dwindled. 400 years later and there were so few Wardens that not enough could be summoned to deal with a Fifth Blight, which no one believed was an actual Blight despite the insistence of the Wardens present. Stupid ignorant fools.”

Fenris frowned, not understanding.

“Wardens sense darkspawn. We are plagued by them in our dreams. If there is an Archdemon, we will know. We will be able to hear and see them clearly in our dreams as if we were present before it. This is part of the role of the Wardens. To watch and listen for the darkspawn, to know when a Blight occurs. And then to fight against it. To try to keep the numbers of darkspawn down, to try to head off a Blight before it even starts, which is likely what happened at that 200 year mark, a Blight was likely headed off before it got started and thus nothing got recorded.”

Anders sighed, “Wardens possess the Right of Conscription. Anyone may be conscripted and thus free from any obligations or punishments, be they king or criminal, yet bound to serve as a Warden till they are called to death.”

“You were conscripted.”

“I was. Saved me from being made Tranquil or being killed. But sure pissed off a selection of Templars seriously bent on my demise… Anyways, the role of the Wardens…” Anders took a deep breath and recited his oath, “ _Join us, brothers and sisters. Join us in the shadows where we stand vigilant. Join us as we carry the duty that cannot be forsworn. And should you perish, know that your sacrifice will not be forgotten. And that one day we shall join you._ ” He dropped his eyes feeling a bit guilty for having run from them. “ _In war, victory. In peace, vigilance. In death, sacrifice._ ”

“Do you regret running away?” asked Fenris as he spotted a small building along the road ahead.

Anders shrugged, “Sometimes. I really liked being among them. It was the first time I felt free and appreciated. But it didn’t last. There was a Warden allied with the Templars who were after me. He betrayed me and … … Things happened. So I ran.”

They stopped at the door of the small building and knocked. There was no response. “Maybe we should go,” Anders suggested hesitantly as his finger traced the Grey Warden griffon emblem carved into the stone beside the door.

“No one is here and the village is too far to reach before nightfall.” Fenris wished Hawke was present to pick the lock so they could enter and get warm and dry.


	7. Warden Waystation

They thoroughly investigated the outside of the small building. It was very new as buildings go, maybe five years old. The well pump worked and they filled their waterskins with the frigid water. There was one window, but they could not see within for the curtain and shutter. There was a chimney so there had to be a fireplace. They found a chopping block and a pile of firewood. Anders shoved two logs into their packs for later, in case they were somewhere and had no wood for a fire. On the far side of the building was an overhang to shelter from the wind and rain. Under it was a rail and a trough.

“Horses? Wardens ride horses regularly, now?” Anders voiced is confusion. This made him worry further. ( _What about Templars? Were Templars also riding horses?_ ) They would never be able to outrun Templars on horseback. “Why can’t Fereldans just stick to dogs?!”

Fenris’ brands flickers as he concentrated on the door and lock. He phased his hand and pushed it through the door, intending to try to unlock it from the inside. He was blown back by magical defenses. Anders rushed over to him to heal the damage. He curled up and cringed even at Anders’ touch, spitting curses about magic.

A glyph appeared on the ground around them as the magical effects on Fenris finally abated. Having dispelled the trap’s effects, Anders then more cautiously tried to heal Fenris. He tugged the elf almost into his lap, murmuring apologies, “I am so sorry. I didn’t know. I have never seen places like this for Wardens. I’m sorry Fenris.”

“You… are a Warden. You should be able to bloody open it. So open it,” growled Fenris.

Anders had no idea how. Once he finished healing the elf, they set up their camp under the overhang. The night passed slow and quiet. They continued on to the village in the morning. They looked back at the strange small building. Their only knowledge from it was that it was Warden property and well protected.

The village spread thinly over a few streets. It hardly looked like a village. Dogs roamed freely with a mabari breeder on one side of village. They negotiated for some supplies. Anders traded his skills in physical healing for food stuffs and information and a room at the small tavern.

Fenris sat with a hot meal by the crackling fire of the tavern, watching Anders through the veil of his white hair. Anders smiled and chatted, flirted and socialized, healed and comforted. Fenris ground his teeth uncertain whether he was feeling jealous of the people taking up all of Anders attention, or jealous of how easily Anders simply engaged with people, or if he was frustrated with Anders total lack of concern for his own safety. Any one of these people could betray them. Any one of them could discover the truth and send for Templars, or Wardens. Any one of them were close enough to his mage to make a fatal stab. Anders seemed oblivious and overly trusting. Fenris had to remind himself that these were mostly poor farmers and dog breeders. This was not an excursion with Danarius where he had to act as protector and body guard.

Anders sat at their shared table, “Oh thank the Maker! Food!” He dug into the left overs. Between bites he shared information he had learned. “So, that building we passed. It was a way station, a Warden Way station. Apparently, King Alistair insisted on the building of them all over Fereldan. And village that maintained its supplies, were given a tax break of some sort. There are also Warden outposts in a variety of places with a few Wardens stationed there to watch for darkspawn and deal with trouble. Any village that supports and supplies one of those gets free education, training in whatever the present wardens can offer. That’s pretty amazing!”

He finished the last of the stew. “Oh, they also mentioned how there are other changes, something with the mage circles, but they don’t really know. Families have been advised that if a child proves to be a mage, then the family has a choice. They can send the child to the Wardens or to Chantry. Families have a CHOICE, Fenris. The Chantry is starting to build Templar outposts too. Something about feeling that they are losing their foothold or something to the Wardens. One guy said these are changes that started since… since…” He lowered his voice to a whisper, “Since The Fall…” Anders bit his lip. These were the good changes he had hoped to see when he and Justice acted, but the guilt of the death of innocent lives ate at him. “They warned us that there is fighting… and to steer clear of Templars or mages if we encounter either.”

Having avoided civilization for weeks, they lost touch with the news. “We should be moving on,” Fenris stated flatly. “In the morning, we leave at dawn.”

Anders groaned, “So early?” That Fenris didn’t engage in arguing about the wake-up time assured Anders that it was non-negotiable. He followed Fenris to their room.

Fenris stretched out the map on a side table he pulled in between their cots. “What place is this? Is this a larger village?” he asked Anders as he tapped a finger on a dot on the map.

“Dunnstead. It’s a town. We have a few days walk before we get that far. Is that where you want to go? Miss the comforts of real rooms. I thought you didn’t like the crowds.” Anders brought out the salve for his knee and started to unwrap the bandages that helped support and strengthen that knee.

Fenris frowned. “You are supposed to tell me when it bothers you.” He moved the table aside and sat himself on the floor, salve in hand. Being warm and fed a hot meal helped his mood a great deal. As much as Anders had been incredibly annoying all evening, he was here now. He had seen something in Anders at the dinner table. Heard something in his voice. It had been almost two weeks since Justice slid through to the surface. It was getting harder to notice. On the odd occasion, it was obvious. At other times, it was like this, the slightest deepness overlaying Anders’ scratchy tenor voice. A hint of sliver flickering through the Amber of his eyes.

Fenris pushed up the pant leg to expose the mage’s knee. ( _He is not yours, Spirit. You may not be demon, but he wishes to be free of you. And I remember you want to be free of him._ ) Fenris glanced up through his bangs to still see the flickerings of Justice in Anders eyes. How Anders would never know, cannot likely sense it. Had Anders not said on the ship that he no longer knew where he ended and Justice began? ( _I know a secret. I will give you something you want if you try… really try… to not overpower him._ ) “Close your eyes and trust me,” Fenris watched Anders obey.

“I do trust you.”

Fenris lit his brands, enduring some of the burn that came with it in total silence. And while the lyrium shone brightly in the room, he massaged the salve into Anders’ knee. He heard the soft gasp and sigh. He had once overheard someone mention how Justice could hear the lyrium in Fenris, like a song, a reminder of the Fade. The burn in his skin was less as he released his hold on the lyrium. The song faded, he supposed. When he was done and tugged down the pant leg, Anders opened his eyes curiously. Fenris felt a small victory to find only warm sun through honey colored eyes looking down at him.

“Fenris? Why did you brood off in the corner table all evening?”

Fenris handed back the jar of salve. “I did not want to be touched by their closeness and I did not want to spoil your contentment with my mood. But you do take too much risk.”

Anders curled onto his cot. “Are you jealous?”

“No!” the reply came too quickly.

“Do you want me to rub your feet?” Anders asked by way of apology for abandoning Fenris for most of the day and evening.

“Yes…” Fenris pulled from a pack one of the journals to read while Anders healed and rubbed each of his feet.


	8. Random Shit

 “Yes…” Fenris pulled from a pack one of the journals to read while Anders healed and rubbed each of his feet. This was a journal Fenris seemed to have missed. Nothing was dated inside like the other journals. This one even had a title written on the first page. He worried a moment that this might be one of those ‘friend fictions’ and dreaded thinking that Anders might be a fan of them.

Fenris scrunched up his face. He turns the book sideways. Righting the book and scowled further. “Zuff… zoo…falls…sk…sss…ch… Vanhedis! What the Void is this?” He turned the book and pointed at the title.

Anders glanced up from where he sat on the edge of his cot rubbing Fenris’ feet. “Hm? Oh. ZufallsScheiße.” At the still perplexed expression on the elf’s face, Anders sounded the word out more slowly. “Zooo-fallz-sshh-eye-zeh. It means Random Shit.”

Fenris cocked an eyebrow. “In the language of the Anderfells?” At the mage’s nod, he asked, “Is the whole book written in this language?”

Anders chuckled, “No. I don’t remember the whole language anymore. I have spoken Ferelden and Common Trade and Arcanum for so long. But swearing… I am adept in that in lots of languages.”

Fenris barked a laugh and turned the page to read Anders ‘random shit’ with curiosity.

_~~~_

_Fenris’s lines are pure refined lyrium. Not the mined shit. The stuff taken right out of the Fade through a rift. Justice says so because it sings perfectly like Fade lyrium. Bet he could do what Templars do and far far better than they can. I will be to be extra careful around him.I rather the positive enhance my mana kind of lyrium effects to the blast away my mana kind of effects._

_~~~_

_Chantry: “Though the lands suffer a thousand wrongs, the Maker yet notices the smallest of deeds.”_

_Fucking shit! No he doesn’t. Otherwise I would not have been beaten or raped by Templars, or they would have been punished for their deeds instead of promoted in rank!_

_~~~_

_Chantry Law: Those who pass their Harrowing ha the will to resist demonic possession and therefore cannot be made Tranquil. The Rite of Tranquility is reserved for those too unstable to make it through the Harrowing._

_~~~_

_Fenris is a recluse, hiding in his mansion unless Hawke asks him out on missions or unless is is card night at the Hanged Man. He must be really lonely. He needs a cat._

_~~~_

Fenris stopped there to put his other foot in Ander’s lap. Anders had stayed quiet while Fenris read out loud these first bits of the Random Shit journal. Fenris chews the inside of a cheek as he pondered a moment before speaking. “I wish you had told me of your suspicion about my brands. I might have been able to learn how to use them in other ways that would have been more beneficial.”

“Dragon Fire! No way! You hated me back then. You would only have used it on me.”

Fenris winced. He deserved that outburst. Anders was right. Back then… he likely would have. But now… it could really be useful to help control Justice. He thought for a second about maybe seeking out Templars here for training after he read that first bit in the journal. He struck the thought from his mind when he read the very blatant confession that the Templars raped Anders.

He chose not to say anything about the recluse comment, because Anders was right. He was very lonely. He wanted to be with Hawke. He dropped his eyes back to the book in avoidance and continued reading.

_~~~_

_Attempt # 1 to remove Justice… failed. Doing more research._

_~~~_

Fenris looked up from the page. “You actively tried to separate Justice from you? Did you find anything useful?”

Anders paused with both hands gently around Fenris’ foot. “I think you should keep reading before I bother answering.”

_~~~_

_Vanhedis! Festa Vass! Tevinter swearing._

_~~~_

_Attempt #36 to remove Justice… failed miserably! It gave me hives in very… awkward places. Places that were hard to explain to Hawke. I blamed it on all the healing of STD I had recently done._

_~~~_

_Got hold of a Tevinter text. Found a potion that might work. Ugh… such gross ingredients. Apparently Tevinter mages have been the only ones who actively try to remove possessing spirits without killing mages. Something about not wanting to waste potentially useful vessels. From what Fenris has said of Magisters, I bet they used it as a way to climb the power ladder. Wish I had this when Danarius came by. I would have really enjoyed ripping free the spirit in him and leaving him defenseless._

_Apparently, I am to drink the potion, obey the spirits desire and then I will have a window of about 3 hours after whatever the deed is where I can be freed of the spirit’s control. I have to be taken to the edge of death and the spirit will then be forced out. I get one shot at this. Hawke will not approve. One terrible act is better than a lifetime of terrible acts._

_~~~_

Fenris drew back his foot and sat cross-legged on his cot with the journal. They stared at each other for many long minutes. Anders looked away guiltily. “Was it written in Arcanum or taken from a magister’s grimoire?” Anders answered Fenris’ question with a shake of his head. “Where did you find it?”

“Elthina gave it to me. She said sometimes a martyr’s death can accomplish far more for future lives than constantly fighting with no sway. I thought she meant my own death. But now… I think she meant… hers.” Anders curled up on his cot again and rolled over to put his back to Fenris.

Fenris dropped his eyes sorrowfully. The guilt of the Chantry’s destruction visibly ate at Anders still, despite his cheery façade. And now, Fenris had something he needed to write to Sebastian about. Sebastian needed to know this. He just wasn’t sure Sebastian would believe him. He read the next bit in the journal silently to himself and stiffened.

_~~~_

_Fenris!! FENRIS!! I am lost!!! I was wrong! Help me! Hawke cannot! Please! I beg you! Kill me! KILL ME! Please! Before I do this~_

_~~~_

The rest of the sentence was fiercely scribbled out. He had to strain to even read those lines through the scribbling. Justice… Justice stopped Anders. He closed the book, unable to read more tonight.


	9. Snow Storm

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Included a yule gift I wrote for megaxrocks. Stuck in a snow storm.

The morning felt too early and too late at the same time. Anders frowned, eyes still closed against the flickering candle light. He wanted badly to just sleep in, to be like a lazy cat that felt safe to do so. Yet, at the same time, he had this constant nagging to be up and doing something, looking into the news of the conflict between mages and Templars, find out if mages were gaining footing in the fight for freedom. The nagging in the back of his mind pushed him to want to seek out Templar renegades breaking Alistair’s reform laws, find out if mages here were in need of aid. The nagging stabbed behind his eyes and accused him of being a coward by running and hiding.

He opened his eyes at flickering of blue that added to the flickering yellow. Fenris stretched and activated the lyrium within his body. Long limbs, tight muscles, intricate lyrium lines that sang the sweetest song. Fenris was beautiful. Justice quieted in Anders mind to appreciate as Anders did, though for differing reasons. “Justice misses the Fade. When you are all shiny and ghosty, he can feel the Fade through the song of the lyrium in you. It’s… comforting.”

Fenris turned around as Anders spoke, surprised that the mage was awake. He shucked his chin and turned away uncertain whether he was being complimented or flirted with. “May he sleep well in the back of your mind and find no need to claim your body.” ( _I am not fond of sharing, especially with some spirit of the Fade, demon or not._ )

They ate a meager breakfast at the tavern and were on the road again shortly after. They left the road on the second day to avoid a way station flying a Templar flag. After the fourth, Anders bugged Fenris about wearing warmer clothing, socks, boots, their peaceful truce ended in snarls and arguments through till sundown. Setting up the tent as snow fell heavily soured their moods further.

They huddled inside their small tent. Fenris shivered, hoarding the blankets around his feet and looped over his head like a hood. The wind howled outside snow pelted heavily over the tent. “We are going to be freeze to death buried in this festan frozen veshathan.” Fenris cursed in Tevinter.

Anders snickered, “That’s new. I mean, not the freezing part. Festan is a derivative from festa vass? So… festa and all its derivatives mean fuck. I think I got that. Veshathan? What is that?”

Fenris grumbled miserably, “Feces.”

“Shit! OH! Ok. It means shit.” Anders was far too pleased with himself for Fenris’ liking. “And we will not freeze to death. The wind is bad, but once the tent gets a bit snow covered, we will be well insulated. If you really feel the need to worry about a snow storm killing us, worry about us being buried alive and running out of air.”

Green eyes widened, “Will that happen?”

Anders sighed, “No.” He pushed and pulled all the blankets away from the elf who growled his protests. Then the mage wriggled out of his own sweater and tugged it over Fenris’ head. A small amount more of grumbling and Fenris stuck his arms through the sleeves and hugged himself. Only then did he grow quiet from his complaining. The sweater warmed him as it had already been preheated from Anders’ own body heat. It smelled of Anders too, elfroot, mint, that bergamot and vanilla tea Anders’ loved, and a smell uniquely all Anders. Anders dug into their packs and pulled out two sets of thick socks knitted from the same cotton silk as the sweater. He had to practically wrestle Fenris into them. Only once the elf realized how soft both sweater and socks were did he stop griping and simply curl up.

“When we get back on the road, you must wear the boots I got you. At least until we get to an inn.” Anders waited for the reluctant agreement. “We‘ll make it through the storm,” he reassured as he snuggled close to the elf and waited for nervous tension to subside before pulling the blankets over them. He smiled to himself when he spied Fenris trying to secretly pet the soft sleeve and pulling the sweater collar up to his nose.

Anders radiated body heat like a living furnace, something Fenris assumed must be normal for Fereldans or for men of the Anderfels. Being an elf from hot climates, he just did not adjust well to the snow and brutally cold wind chill. He tried to practically meld himself back into Anders to absorb as much of that heat as he could. Anders wrapped protective arms around Fenris like further blanket bundling. He didn’t want to admit it, certainly not out loud. But this felt good. Fenris felt… safe. Sleep stole them both as they snuggled without comment.

Dunnstead should be easy to find in the morning. Both elf and mage were reluctant to get up. Fenris had to in the middle of the night to stretch and shift the lyrium in him. But now that it was morning and the snow did actually insulate the tent and muffle away the outside world, it felt… cozy. He opened his eyes as wakeful realization informed him that he and the mage were intimately entangled under the blankets. His head rested on Anders’ chest. Anders chin had tucked in and his face was partially buried in Fenris’ hair. Worse, a warm and stiff throb drew his attention to between his own legs. He prayed Anders stayed asleep and did not notice as his ears burned a deep red that filled his face.

The urge to seek friction and pressure begged strongly. His embarrassment drove him to extricate himself from his predicament. He removed the now three layers of socks, Anders two soft woolly ones and his super soft ones that he had resigned to wearing at night. He huddles still in Anders’ sweater a few more moments, then wriggled out of it and dared a small look outside. The snow was knee deep everywhere. The wind had died down, but not the cold. This snowfall was not going to melt away. Part of him wanted to run on ahead to the town and handle those letters. But he dared not leave Anders, not when they had passed a Templar way station. He decided they would go to the town, stay overnight with hot baths, send the letters and resupply, then get moving again.

Fenris threw open the tent flap. “Wake up, Mage! We should be moving on.”

Anders flinched under the blankets and grumbled and pulled them over his head. “You are a cruel elf!”

Fenris chuckled deeply and took a step into the snow. Knee deep. He had judged correctly. He ignored the cold, too amazed at the deep blanketing of snow all around. With wide steps he tromped out a bit farther, then hopped. Then leapt. The lyirum cast a heavenly glow upon the sparkly surface. It was too deep and cumbersome to swing Mercy about in practice. Maybe in a couple days after he got used to trudging through this new knee-high powder. No… it was much thicker than powder. Not as thick as mud, but damned close. Oh… and much colder.

Anders had packed and taken down the tent while Fenris explored moving around in the snow. He glanced over at the elf every now and then with a small smile. Anders thought Fenris looked as adorable as a puppy or cat bounding around in new thick snow. He gripped Simplicity in his hand to steady his own steps through the snow and pointed them in the direction of Dunnstead.

“I think I am going to keep calling her Simplicity.”

Fenris darted a look over as they walked. “Good. You need Simplicity.” He meant that on many levels but chose not to explain. They started to see the town in the distance. “Thank the Maker. I want a hot bath.”

“Me too,” agreed Anders. He turned his head and looked behind them, back in the vague direction of the Templar way station.

Fenris frowned and yanked Anders attention back with a question, “On the ship, I gave you permission to ask me anything. I ask you many things and read your personal journals. Yet, you hardly ask me any questions at all.”

Anders shrugged. “I thought it was only fair. I never hated you. I studied you and tried to understand you as much as I could all through our interactions over the years. You are only just now starting to get to know me. I have the unfair advantage over you in that I know lots about you already. I paid attention. Also, I know you don’t like people prying into your personal life. You are a very private man. I respect that. And, you don’t exactly have all your memories. Pushing you to remember things you can’t will only be frustrating and hurtful.” He leaned on his staff as he pushed through the snow. Yes, simplicity suited it and was exactly what he needed. If only it could be peaceful somewhere safe and free. “I don’t presume to know you. But I would like to think I know you better than you know me… well, Now I think you are knowing me better.” He looked away shyly.

“I do not like that we fight.”

Anders chuckled. “You lie! I love that we fight. You love the challenge, the debate, and push to do more or better. And you like things your way. You, who is freezing your ass off in the snow and will have to be checked for frostbite when we find an inn.”

Fenris snorted in derision and stomped ahead as they entered the town. When he knew Anders could not see, he smiled to himself. Then he turned and mock glowered at Anders, “Hot baths and hot food that way.” He lead them to the first inn he saw.


	10. Broken

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another snippet of song: lyrics of “Broken” by Lifehouse  
> Art by "givemethorns" on Tumblr. The art inspired this chapter and was not specifically drawn for it. (I might remove it later.)

In their room, Anders insisted Fenris sit while he checked him for frostbite. “You know, one day, and I mean soon, you are going to be in serious trouble. You are shivering and practically…”

“Shut up, mage.”

Anders pursed his lips. Fenris could be so stubborn. “Fine!” Anders threw up his arms. “Have your hot bath. Salve your own feet. I’m going to find us some supplies.” Anders stormed from their room and slammed the door.

Fenris gritted his teeth and forced control back into his tingling brands. Justice was making Anders short tempered. When the bath was ready, he stripped, throwing his armor and clothing violently onto his cot. He sank into the water and allowed the heat to seep through skin, muscle and bone. When it started to become tepid, he stepped out, redressed and sat at the little desk in their shared room. He listened for Anders. He looked out the window. “I will not worry. The market is right there.” He could see the mage negotiating for food.

Sometimes… they just needed a little bit of space away from each other.

Anders didn’t understand why he felt so angry and frustrated with Fenris. Well, he did know. Fenris was stubborn, stupid, willful. He didn’t listen to Anders ever! Anders was trying to justly protect the elf from his own foolishness with the cold weather. Anders gasped. His anger cooled. Now he knew. Justice. ( _Were the thoughts mine and the feelings His? Or were the thoughts his and the feelings mine?_ ) He took a slow breath and let things go as best he could. The merchant at the stall asked him again how many apples he wanted. “Ten please. I am taking them on the road.”

Fenris sat and very carefully wrote his letters to Prince Vael and to Varric. His letter to Vael referred to the information he had that Elthina seemed to have supplied Anders with the means to blow up the Chantry. _Something about the power of martyrdom being a vehicle for change or something. Please correspond through Varric to reach me._ His letter to Varric was a short update of their state of affairs and requested news of Hawke. He looked at his map for the next largest town. By his judgement, it will take them a week or two to reach it on foot at the rate they moved in this snow. Varric had other ways in which to communicate swiftly. He folded his letters and requested a fresh bath prepared for Anders return.

When he ordered the fresh bath, he also asked where there was a place to send letters. The innkeeper advised him to go to the aviary. It was run by the Chantry. Lovely. He slipped out before Anders returned. He could not afford Anders knowing that he kept up correspondence, and especially that he was using a Chantry aviary to do so. It would give the completely wrong impression. Justice would become and instant problem. Correction, he was already becoming a problem.

Fenris thought as he walked. How could he to ease Justice back and bring out Anders? He needed to be sure not to lose Anders to the spirit before Hawke could come to their aid. How long would that be? He tried not to worry on that issue. He made his coin donation to the Chantry as Sebastian Vael had taught him and sent off his letters.

Anders thoughts were in turmoil of wondering who he was, where he ended and Justice began, left him feeling… broken. He had hoped to return and find Fenris there so he could apologize for his outburst. But Fenris was gone. His breath caught in a brief moment of panic that maybe he was… abandoned… alone.

Someone knocked and brought in fresh hot water for the bath. “Ah… messere. Your friend took a walk and said he would return soon. He assumed you would want a bath while you had the privacy.”

Anders felt oddly weak in the knees with relief and sank to sit on his cot. “Uh, yes. Thank you.”

He soaked and scrubbed even his air. He berated himself and the spirit within him for twisting him into this, whatever THIS was or will be. Why couldn’t Justice be a quiet helpful virtuous spirit like the one in Wynne? That wasn’t the nature of Justice though. Justice does not sit idle. Justice acts. And sometimes Justice is cold Vengeance. He dried off, dressed and stood before the mirror. He could not remember the last time he saw his own reflection. He tried to imagine himself without the scars, pretend… He sighed, allowing song to come as he tied back his hair.

… … …  
Maybe it can stop tomorrow from stealing all my time  
I am here still waiting though I still have my doubts  
I am damaged at best, like you've already figured out  
  
I'm falling apart, I'm barely breathing  
With a broken heart that's still beating  
In the pain, there is healing  
In your name I find meaning  
So I'm holdin' on, I'm holdin' on, I'm holdin' on  
I'm barely holdin' on to you  
  
The broken locks were a warning you got inside my head  
I tried my best to be guarded, I'm an open book instead  
I still see your reflection inside of my eyes  
That are looking for a purpose, they're still looking for life

… … …

Fenris entered without thinking. Anders song staggered to a halt. Fenris swiftly turned his back and heard Anders rush to pull on his shirt. The moments fell into silence, heavy and awkward.

Anders felt caught in the middle of something embarrassing, almost as if he had been caught masturbating. Not that that has happened, yet. Anders chewed his lip. He knew he should not be embarrassed by singing. It was a means to an end many years ago, a way to make money in taverns and brothels… among other things he gave into. He knew he was pretty good at it. But … well… it was more the moment and content of this song, bare skinned. He swallowed and stared at Fenris’ back. “Fenris? I… Uh… would you like an apple?”

Fenris turned slowly and padded softly across the floor to take the proffered apple from Anders outstretched hand. “You sing very well.” He saw color tint Anders’ cheeks as the mage looked away. He sat on his own cot and waited for Anders to recover and look up again. “I would like to try what you suggested some time ago. If I activate my brands, can you sense the magic and patterns within them, find out what has been done to me? Even if you cannot fix it… I want to know. And maybe, you can ease the burn and itch of them. They have been bothering me lately. Makes me… irritable.”

“Are you sure you want someone as broken as I to be messing around in there at all?”

“I trust your broken magic more than I trust anyone else’s whole abilities.”

“Can we do this tomorrow?”

Fenris nodded and leaned back to enjoy his apple.


	11. Blurred Identity

# Chapter 11: Blurred Identity

Anders curled up on his cot facing the wall and poking randomly at wall wondering if this night would be quiet as the last couple had been. He took back the thought. No, his nights have been full of nonsense. Maybe not nonsense, righteous vengeance. Templars had been close. A chantry was in this town. His dreams filled with the imagined screams of those he had killed when the Kirkwall Chantry exploded in mage fire. His eyes drooped to those anxious thoughts, lulled by the whispers of darkspawn that were distant but constant. Anders didn’t bother to tell Fenris. It wasn’t like the darkspawn were many or coming on them suddenly.

Fenris snapped alert when Anders’ body jolted, breath quickened in wakeful fright. Fenris watched silently as Anders took deeper breaths forcing himself calm again. Fenris’ brands itched and he knew Anders was casting magic, small bits of magic. He narrowed his eyes and tried to determine if this was Anders’ magic or Justice’s, tried to determine if he needed to interfere or not. He listened. Then he wished he had not.

In the dark Anders thought Fenris still slept. They weren’t sharing a set of blankets trying to keep warm in a tent in the snow. That was a distracting thought. Yes, that was a great distracting thought. Fenris clinging to him for warmth, nestled close. Hair soft under his nose. Body pressed so close that he can remember the erection against his thigh. Anders decided to use that. That is a memory he could use to drown out the dreams, to muffle the whispering, to cloud the judgement of Justice and Vengeance. He rubbed his fingers to start the first spell slicking them, tapped them to his thumb sparking a little electricity. Then he slipped his hand down under the blankets, into the front of his pants. He tried to be as quiet as he could. He was quiet. He’d practiced this thousands of times before. His breath stuttered softly as his fisted worked steadily.

Fenris squeezed his eyes shut as his ears burned and he tried not to squirm in time with Anders’s quiet panting. He failed. He bit his lip hard as he heard Anders lose rhythm in release. He turned his face into the pillow. A different sound drifted to his ears and he frowned.

Anders muffled his sobs into his own pillow, ashamed.

This new sound killed any lusty urge Fenris had. It shamed him too that he wanted so badly and wasn’t quite sure what to do about it. He rolled from his cot to pad across the room. And froze. Heavy, all too familiar footsteps clanked and thudded in the hall outside. Anders roll off his cot, panting hard as cracks of light broke through his skin. Fenris pounced on him, forcing him to the ground. “No,” Fenris hissed fiercely. “No.” It took all of the warrior’s strength to hold Anders in place.

The Templars held some random conversation in the hall three doors down, laughed and were joined by someone else from that room. They all left after that, back to the main room. Fenris tilted his head and strained his ears. He heard them leave the inn. Anders struggled under him. He felt the raising of magical energy, preparing for release.

He growled and rammed his hand into Anders’ chest from behind. “Do not make me do this. I will if I have to. I will if you force this. Better Anders be free than lost to you, spirit.” He felt the magic dwindle as Justice receded. Fenris withdrew his hand as Anders shook with hate and fear, eyes wide. “They are gone,” Fenris assured. “They are gone.”

Ander curled in on himself into a tight ball and could not be coaxed out of it till exhaustion dragged him into sleep. Fenris lifted him back into the cot and draped a blanket over him. He then shoved his own cot close before grabbing a couple more hours sleep.

Anders woke with no memory of the incident. He raised an eyebrow at the closeness of the cots. “I am dying to say something completely witty and inappropriate.”

Green eyes opened and glared at the mage. “Don’t.”

Anders’ mirth was tempered by the flicker of Justice, silver slivers laced his usually warm amber eyes. “Do you still want me to explore the spells that bind you?”

“Not here. Not now. There were Templars last night.” Fenris flows off his cot and shoved it back into its place across the room. “Get dressed. We leave immediately.”

“T-T-Templars? Fenris? Did I? Did… Justice?” His panic started to smother his breath in strained gasps. More silver bled into his eyes. “Fenris…” Barely a whisper. “I don’t remember anything last night. What did I do?”

“Nothing. I held you down. They only passed in the hallway to meet a friend and left. You slept after.” Fenris dared a first wakeful touch. He took Anders hands in his as he had seen Anders do often for others. A gesture of comfort and reassurance. He added by slowly activating his lyrium brands to watch the soft bliss fill the mage’s face as his eyes closed. ( _Calm yourself, Spirit. Listen to my lyrium song and be calm._ )

They were packed and gone within the hour. Anders remained quiet, tense, nervous. Templars had been right outside his door last night. What would Justice have done? No, he knew what Justice would have done. He clenched his jaw against those memories which Justice whispered back that the action was justified, necessary, change is happening because of it. Anders wanted to yell back, that it only started a war, chaos. That it divided the Templars, the Chantry, the Circles and the mages. Yes, Alistair had started good things here, but the underlying struggle of renegades were now of all factions and not just apostates running in escape of circle. It would be, likely was, like herding cats.

Fenris side glanced often, not yet willing to interfere in the internal struggle in Anders’ mind. He wanted Anders to sort out his feelings, pick himself up without help. The silver of the Fade was fading and thus the itch in Fenris’ brands. But, Anders still looked deep in thought, troubled thought. Fenris found himself missing annoying babble of the mage that helped distract him from how cold he felt. “Mage,” Fenris broke the silence on their hike in the afternoon, “Tell me… You seemed to enjoy your various escape attempts from the Circle. Which escape pleased you most? And how did you remain hidden?”

Amber eyes crinkled with smile lines. Mouth quirked with a mischievous giggle. “Cullen.”

“Cullen?”

Anders grinned widely. “Ya, back when Cullen was first knighted and we were moved to a small Fereldan Circle not too far from Denerim. He was on watch outside. Back then, I hadn’t decided if he was a safe Templar or on Alrik’s side. He was such a prude, virginal prude at that. Shrieked like a girl once when he accidentally stumbled on two mages fucking in a closet.” His voice failed as it dissolved into snickering at the memory.

Even Fenris had to clear his throat to think of Cullen shrieking like a girl at anything.

“He never participated in the… bad things that the other Templars did with the mages. But he didn’t exactly stop it either. He was so new. New meant he was my best target and my best chance of escape. He knew me only by reputation and had yet to be subject to my daring escapades.” Anders straightened his back and grinned with great pride. “The very best escape involved him. Or was because of him. I convinced all the mages to give me their under-knickers. I tied them into a rope so I could climb from one of the windows down to the ground. I picked the perfect window, right over Cullen’s head as I scaled out and down the tower wall.”

Fenris frowned at the flawed logic and insane stupidity of a mage climbing from a tower where they might fall to their death. Then reminded himself of the things that had happened to Anders and realized that he didn’t fear dying. Dying would have freed him from his prison. He feared being tortured, raped and locked in a small dark cell. Still, this plan was very flawed. “That makes absolutely no sense. How can you escape if you are climbing down the wall to practically land on the Templar on duty. Cullen is very thorough and observant. I am sure he would have seen you. All he had to do was look up.”

“Hehehehe… That was exactly what I had been counting on. See? The last pair of knickers on the rope… were my own!” Anders tried not to crumple in laughter at the raised eyebrow of confusion on Fenris’ face. “Oh… heehee… He looked up alright. And I had NOTHING under my robe. I was dangling free in the wind for him to see as he looked right up.” Anders struggled with his snickering a moment. “Cullen turned red and white and red and plastered himself against the wall. I dropped safely to the ground. He was gaping like a fish out of water. I turned, and for good measure, I flipped up the back of my robes, wiggled my cute ass at him and took off at a run with my robes hiked up almost to my waist! I think I made it over the hill before he could move. I got to Denerim before he managed to muster the others to come after me.”

Fenris rumbled in deep chuckling. Only Anders would do something so crazy… and get away with it.

“As to how I stayed hidden? Well, I look very girlish when I am shaved. It’s why I don’t bother. But shaved, dressed in women’s clothes and with a voice high enough to sing like a woman, I blended in perfectly in the brothels in Denerim. That I could heal the embarrassing things like unwanted pregnancies and sexual infections made me valuable enough for them to hid me. My skills with sexual techniques I learned from various hidden grimoires also made me wanted enough for people to engage on my terms. I made coin and never had to lift my shirt. The Templars… were looking for a young man, not a women hiding in plain sight.” He smiled so genuinely that Fenris had to watch for several moments to remember that look in case he never saw it again. He never recalled ever seeing it before.

Fenris realized that Anders didn’t just used jests and silly foolish antics as a shield, but also as a weapon. A tool, a skill that he wielded as well as Fenris wielded his sword, as well as Anders used magic. It kept Anders’ foes off balance, unsure who they were dealing with, and assuming he was just some weak mage. Weak. Fenris had fallen for the show like any other foe. Anders was not weak at all, despite Fenris’ accusations. He looked away, ashamed that he had once called Anders weak.

“WOOHOO!” cheered Anders almost making Fenris jump out of his freezing skin. In the distance they saw a way station, a Warden way station.

By midnight, they were still hiking in the snow. Fenris’ mood fouled with the cold. He could not understand why the mage could be so precise when casting spells. “You are a terrible judge of distance!”

“If you bundled--”

“DON’T START!”

They pushed hard to get to the way station’s shelter. Fenris huddled against the wall beside the door, shivering so hard his teeth chattered. Anders studied the door and the lock. He poked and prodded them with fingers and magic. It was definitely Warden magic. He could almost tell whose, even. “Oh!” He sounded successful, then frowned, “Oh…”

“What?”

“Well, there are two ways to open it. With key… I think. Or with… uh… you won’t like it. It is very questionable use of…uh…”

“WHAT!” demanded Fenris.

“Blood magic.”

They stared at each other for several seconds, several very long and very cold seconds. Fenris hissed out, “No.”

“Warden blood magic. I remember seeing it in the Deep Roads, i-in that Warden prison where he found Hawke’s legacy and that magister, Corpheus.” Ander shuddered from those dark memories of madness. “All I have to do is put some of my blood here on the metal undent--”

“NO!”

“Fenris. I am not going to actually do any blood magic.”

“No!”

“The magic was already done. It is only going to verify--”

Lyrium brands flashed brightly. “I said NO! I do not want you involved in blood magic in any way. I do not want it touching you, contaminating you. So. NO!” Fenris fists clenched in furious defiance.

Anders took a step back from the door. “Alright.” He wasn’t sure if he liked this behavior. He wondered if he should be afraid or feel completely endeared by the fierce protective explosion before him. He decided on the latter and cupped Fenris’ cheek with a mittened hand.

The disarmingly gentle gesture was altogether too affectionate. Fenris almost flinched, but he met warm eyes, sun through honey, reassuring him. He asked more calmly, “What about the key, this… other way?”

Anders nodded knowing he calmed a dangerous savage beast. Did he really think that of Fenris once? That he was a dangerous wild animal that had to be put down? Yes, Fenris was dangerous. But he was neither wild nor savage. He was committed, fiercely so. Loyal to a fault. And trustworthy undo death. And… he was here with and for Anders. He pulled his cloak off and wrapped it around Fenris then turned his attention to the lock again, studying the metal imprint, the pattern, trying to find a proper keyhole. “OH!” he exclaimed for the second time this night. “Hmmm…”

Fenris rolled his eyes and decided he hated when Anders did not think out loud. The random noises were unhelpful.

“Nathaniel. You remember him? He gave me a medallion. He told me it would be useful if I ever returned to Fereldan. Told me to keep it somewhere safe.” He grinned victoriously at Fenris.

“Excellent. So where is it?”

The grin fell, “I don’t know! I put it somewhere safe. It has to be in one of the packs. Help me look. It’s silverite with the warden emblem on both sides and is a little larger than a gold coin.

“Safe,” grumbled the elf under his breath. “Safe apparently means lost.” He crouched and dug into one of their packs as Anders dug into another trying to ignore the snarling.

They eventually found it. Rather, Fenris found it trapped between the pages of the Warden Mage Grimoire where it marked the place between spells from the books previous owner and ones Anders created himself for other Wardens. Fenris noted this privately and decided he will add reading Anders’ mage grimoires to his reading list after all, just so he can make sure what kinds of spells Anders created and that Justice was not helping him blow up something else that killed innocent lives.

The door swung open. Inside was room enough to drop down four bedrolls. There was on raised cot with a medical kit sitting neatly upon it. A small fireplace served both to heat the building and cook any meals. A shelf and trunk contained supplies. Spare armor and weapons and arrows crowded one corner. A table with writing supplies crammed into the other with a box of potions underneath. Like the other one they had passed, this one had a well out back, a shelter for mounts, and a stack of firewood. On the little table was a flag and a permanent roster. The rules of usage for this way station were written in the first page. The subsequent pages listed who visited and when and what supplies they took so they knew what needed to be resupplied.

“This had to be the most brilliant plan for Wardens ever! I wish the Templars didn’t steal it.” Anders closed the roster and helped Fenris get the fire going so he could warm up.

Fenris sat close to the fire, brow creased as he tried to absorb the heat. Anders set up food and prepared for them to stay the night, maybe two.

Tea was ready. Fenris had fallen asleep curled on the blankets like a puppy, ear twitching at every sound Anders made. Anders sipped his tea and watched as the tension slowly eased from the elf’s face. Then he curled up with him, adding his own body heat, being very careful not to touch bare skin that exposed lyrium lines. Anders liked his heart where it was.

 

 

 


	12. Save Me

In a small heated way station, on a thick bedroll, under a warm blanket, and pressed close to a living furnace, Fenris felt overheated and woke sweating. He carefully extricated himself from the next of warmth in order to cool down. One candle still flickered to give light in the room. He slipped into the small attached privy for a moment and thanked the designers of the building that he didn’t have to piss in the freezing weather outside. It always disturbed him to see his piss steaming then freezing solid. It was just… wrong.

On his return, Fenris stretched and worked out quietly, moving the lyrium through the brands. It illuminated the way station briefly. Anders slept on, oblivious. He really did sleep better with someone close, noted Fenris. The elf was also fairly certain now that the lyrium in him “sang” in a way that could sooth Justice, keeping the spirit claiming Anders. Didn’t help once the spirit was roused and in control though. Anders mumbled in his sleep, frowned and gathered a crumple of black to hug close. If Fenris had not gotten up, Anders would have been hugging the prickly elf.

Fenris was too awake now to go back to sleep. So he passed the time emptying and reorganizing their backpacks from the mess they made of them looking for the Warden medallion. He strung the medallion onto a leather cord and tied it to the bundle of pouches with their coins, stuffing it back into Anders backpack for safe keeping and easy finding. The next couple hours were spent updating his map at the small table. He marked in the outposts and way stations they had passed so far, noting their affiliations. He made little symbols that made sense to him for places where there were Chantries or aviaries, good markets and tolerable inns. As much as he coped rather well with roughing it in camps and tent sleeping, even with the mage, Fenris much preferred refined comforts and certain luxuries.

Anders began to mutter in his sleep. Whimper. Move his feet as if he dreamed of running. Pleaded for someone or something to hush and let him sleep. Darkspawn dreams. Fenris could tell the types of dreams apart by now. Dreams where Anders struggled with Justice made Fenris’ brands prickle painfully in a very certain way. Dreams that were the degenerated mess from the Fall or the loss of Hawke left Anders teary and sniffling trying to bury himself, sometimes mumbling, “just let me die…” Dreams of the horrors of his past with the Templars or times he was trapped in the Deep Roads were the worst. Those caused him to struggle and cry out, sometimes screaming and waking in wide-eyed and white-knuckled terror that took hours to recover from. Darkspawn dreams were the ones Fenris preferred over all others. They were sometimes bad too, but Anders usually woke on his own, annoyed with the darkspawn and rolled over back to sleep. Or, Fenris could most easily soothe him back to sleep.

Fenris brought over one of Anders journals, one he had missed reading the last few pages of. He remembered how Anders told him that his voice was soothing. So he read aloud from the journal like he had when they were on the ship. He sat next to the slumbering mage and flipped to the last page he remembered reading in this journal. Anders attempted suicide. Perhaps that was not the best thing to start reading. He remembered it, though. He turned the page to find writing that was not Anders’ hand. Fenris did not know this writing. It seemed almost a violation for someone else to write in Anders’ private journals. Fenris scowled and read the page very softly to himself.

> _Anders,_
> 
> _You have friends who care so deeply for you. Like ME!_
> 
> _Don’t you EVER try taking your life again._
> 
> _Thank Justice for stopping you and Fenris for keeping you from bleeding out. You are NEEDED! We need you. Varric, Merrill (even if she bugs the shit out of you), Aveline… even and probably especially Fenris (though he doesn’t really know it yet)._
> 
> _And ME!_
> 
> _Find us, talk to us, but please… Do not do this again. I have lost too many people that I love._
> 
> _Brayden_

So this was Hawke’s response to that time Anders slit his wrists in Hawke’s bedroom. That was a close call. Not Anders only attempt, but would have been his most successful if Fenris had not paid such close attention and interfered. Fenris stared at the page for a few minutes. Part of him still felt like it was a violation that Hawke wrote in the journal. Part of him felt Hawke was more than justified. If it was his journal, Fenris would have stopped using it himself. He pushed the notion aside and considered the words of the letter instead. Friends. Yes, Anders had friends. Yes, Fenris considered himself Anders’ friend. Perhaps at this point, he was the only friend Anders thought he had.

The elf rested a hand across the page and tried to think of what it would be like if Anders was just… gone. What would he do? Where would he go? Even… who was he? Alone and purposeless, Fenris felt like… nothing. He realized he needed Anders. He needed someone to need him. He needed someone who thought he was worthy. Hawke was right. Again. Not that Fenris ever planned on telling anyone these realizations.

He looked down at the journal again and turned the page. It was as he suspected. Anders stopped journaling. The next few pages were lists of supplies for this quest or that quest of Hawke’s. There was a component shopping/harvesting list for spell or apothecary stuff. Then a bunch of blanks till the end of the book. He almost closed the book, almost missed it. On the second to last page something was written small and close to the spine. He opened the book wider and read:

> _I don’t want to hurt anyone_   
>  _I don’t want to die so soon  
>  Save me  
>  Please_

Fenris’ throat tightened along with his chest. His heart twinged in an ache and he swallowed hard. In all the time he had known Anders, the mage had never begged for anything. He demanded, insisted, yelled for and even assumed. The one time he openly sought death was just as the Chantry roared in red mage fire. He just sat numbly on a crate and asked. But plead like this? Never.

Never, except hidden between these forgotten pages dotted with water marks that smeared some of the letters.

> _Save me… please…_

“I will.” ( _One way or another… I will, my friend._ ) Fenris promised. It was a promise as strong as the one he had given Hawke. “I will.”


	13. Hugged by an Elf

In the morning, Anders woke to the smell of his favorite tea in a mug set on the floor by his head. He smiled, opened his eyes and found it had even been contained the proper amount of honey and milk from an enchanted canteen. He held it in his hands, absorbing the heat and the aroma. “Ahhhh… signs that I am loved by someone. Tea, prepared just right, ready and waiting for me. Thank you, Fenris.”

Fenris grunted from where he sat at the small table. The map was spread across the entire surface and held down at the corners by Anders journals and grimoires. He felt a prickling in his brands and they flickered slightly with his annoyance. “Do not loom over me, mage.”

Anders stepped back and to the side.

“Mage! Stop hovering!”

“I’m just curious,” Anders said defensively. Then he frowned. “Your brands. They are hurting you, aren’t they?” At Fenris’ nod, Anders added, “Let’s stay the day and I’ll see what I can do to help. Maybe figure out a bit more about spells placed within you.”

Fenris calmed, agreed again with another grunt, then poked the map. “Lothering, right? I want to go to Lothering and see where Hawke used to live.”

“OH! Sure. I do too. It might be a darkspawn infested waste, though. Say, do you think we might be able to send a letter to Varric about what we find? Surely he might be able to find Hawke. I am sure Hawke will want to know what became of his hometown.”

“We could do that,” Fenris said cautiously as he looked back to the map. “It is a long way from here, months. But I still want to do it.”

“Me too.”

“They chose not to use any of the supplies of the way station. They breakfasted from their own supplies.

Throughout the day, intermittently because there is only so much touching and poking of magic within him that Fenris could handle. Anders worked on sifting through magic bound within Fenris, trying to understand the weaves. First he cast some healing to ease some of the lingering pain then investigated. They both knew traps lay in wait to harm the invading mage or torture Fenris, or both. They triggered one such trap near dinner time. Anders winced from the spirit blast feedback and waited for the traps other effects to pass. Fenris howled in emotional anguish, hands on his head, curled on the floor. He writhed brands flashing sporadically. Touching him or trying to comfort him in any way was out of the question and only made things worse. Anders sat back waiting, apologies spilling from his lips.

A few hours later, Fenris sat on a bedroll more calmly, staring into his lap. Anders made stew while Fenris gathered his wits and dignity. “Mage,” whispered the exhausted warrior, “What have you learned?”

Anders brought over two bowls of the stew and handed one to Fenris before sitting across from him. “Tell me first what you just went through. I need to understand before I tell you my conclusions.”

Fenris stared into his bowl seemingly lost. “I… remembered… my childhood. We were free once… in Seheron. Free. My father was of the warrior class… a warrior. I… I thought I could remember his face… but it slipped away. It all… slipped away.” His voice rasped raw and thick with emotion still. “My family… was free once…” He swallows and turned his back on Anders to eat slowly and not have his tears witnessed.

Anders sympathized. He remembered running free as a boy himself. Happy and free in the hills of his father’s lands, teasing the sheep and scolding the goats when they ate the laundry. Free, till he was handed over to Templars. He turned his own back to Fenris and moved close so his back just barely made contact with the elf’s. Fenris stiffened mid-swallow for a moment. Swallowed. Then the elf leans back to feel the warm support of the mage.

Anders took long slow deep breaths, being a steadiness for Fenris for a change. It was not often he got to be in that role. “Fenris. It explains why you fought so hard for Danarius’ favor and volunteered for the markings in order to free your mother and sister. It makes sense that even after, you fought for freedom. Deep down, you remember what freedom was like.” Anders tilted his head back, the uneven tail in his hair brushed Fenris’ ear. “I think your father would have been very proud of you and your sacrifices. You risked more than your life for your family. And even now, you stand strong, loyal and honorable.” He finished his bowl of stew and turned to collect Fenris’ empty one. His expression gently and compassionate as red-rimmed moss green eyes looked up at him. Anders cupped Fenris’ cheek. Just for a moment to remind Fenris that he was not alone. He gave a nod to the elf then stepped away with the empty bowls and set them aside.

Fenris turned back and wiped the shame from his cheeks. Anders was right. His family was gone now. But he could still make them proud. He also learned that having voiced these scraps of memory, they stuck. Not the details per se, but certain bits of general knowledge. He used to think he had been born into slavery, worried that Danarius might have been his father as some slaves were. Progeny from a master raping a female slave. But now he knew. He had been born free. Born in an elven tribe on Seheron. He had a father who was a warrior. “I was free once.”

“You are free now and I will make sure you stay that way.”

Fenris hadn’t realized he spoke out loud.

Anders sat and handed Fenris a cup of tea. “Alright. Here is what I learned. You ready?” The warrior nodded now that he felt more composed. “The lyrium is directly connected to your spirit. That means, as a spirit healer, I can heal you of this. Well… any spirit healer could given time or the right access to knowledge. Also, if you had not been pumped full of lyrium, you probably would have turned out to be a powerful battle mage. That you have latent mage talent is likely the only reason you survived the branding when others did not. That latent talent is tied into the lyrium and is why you can do some pretty amazing things like your fisty thing and the ghosting and the pulse thing.” Fenris raised an eyebrow as Anders was starting to speak like Merrill, speaking ‘ thingy-language’ as she does. “There is, however, a whole double tapestry of magic in you.”

Fenris cursed in Tevinter. “Will I never be free of them?!”

“Woah, hold on! Were you not listening when I said you have the awesomest sprit healer in the world who can help you?” Anders jested. “Do you know how the Dalish elves are tattooed?”

“No.”

“Through ink and a magical ritual that causes their body to absorb the ink and remanifest it in a pattern or tapestry that reflects their own spirit.” Anders grinned triumphantly. “The Keeper adds things to the ink that she or he knows will benefit the person.”

“You learn that when you were with those Dalish elves?”

“Ya. I got to participate in one. It was amazing. It’s actually really ancient, passed down from the first Elvhen, those from Arlathan.” Anders raised a hesitant hand touched a finger to the brands on Fenris’ chin. “The same rite, or a very close variant, was used on you. The lyrium pattern of your brands are unique to your spirit. I know it hurt like nothing imaginable to be branded. But… it is all you and yours. This pattern is the visible manifestation of your warrior spirit. I know… I have seen it in your eyes sometimes… you think all you ever are or will be is a killer. But these brands tell a whole other story of who you are. That you are sexy, graceful, beautiful… fierce, dangerous, protective. It is all your own exotic soul and has nothing to do with your former master. He just pretended it was his doing. He’s a fraud. The power was never his doing. It was yours. And he was only using blood magic so he could use you.”

Fenris sat blinking back at all Anders had just said. He found himself smiling at the idea of Danarius being a weak fraud that people thought was powerful only for deft use of blood magic to control powerful people who didn’t yet know they were powerful. His ears felt a little warm, as did his cheeks. The compliments were spoken like they were fact, like Anders believed them, felt them. He wanted to believe them to. This… this gentle side was also part of Anders, along with the silly jesting. This is what he was trying to save. Correction. This was who he was going to save. “So that was the good news. What is the bad? The second tapestry?”

Anders inhaled deeply. “The second tapestry. It is about nine shades of red with one of those shades stronger than the others and binding them together. I hazard the guess that there was Danarius and eight other magisters or apprentices there when you were branded.” Fenris nodded with a noise of agreement. “They wove quite the complicated pattern with knots and traps. On the good side, one of those threads is unravelling on its own. That must be because of the magister I killed in Traders Bay. Good fucking riddance.”

Fenris snorted amusement. Anders fussed and used referred to the Maker and Andraste in many inappropriate ways, but he never plain cursed something base like that. Fenris found it funny. “Agreed. Good fucking riddance.”

Anders snickered back.

“Can you undo it?” Fenris asked more seriously.

“If I had access to a mage library or certain grimoires, then I could have it all unraveled in a couple days. It would likely hurt as bad or worse than when you were first branded.” Anders then sighed, “But that is not an option. I don’t have access to those things.” Fenris looked crestfallen. “Fen… I can still do it. It will be slow and a lot like today has been. Carefully cutting away threads and unraveling knots and traps and ding healing. I can do it, Fenris. I can do it.”

That was the best thing Fenris had ever heard in his life. Hope, real hope filled him and he allowed it. Anders found himself suddenly, though very briefly, hugged by his usually grumpy and prickly elven guardian. The hug was over before Anders could hug Fenris back.

They sipped tea together quietly. It was perhaps one of their better moments. Fenris realized the tea was the same as Anders tea, and yet he was enjoying it. Mostly because it was Anders’ tea. He kept thinking on the complimentary things that Anders had told him. Fenris was surprised by how much Anders knew of him, how much observing and well, he felt bashful and ashamed at what Anders thought of him. He had been reading Anders journals and knew too that Anders felt and thought terrible things about himself. Those things hindered his ability to feel any self worth. And without any real self-worth, what is the reason for holding on, staying strong and resisting the spirit trying to take him over? Fenris wondered again about that kiss he had given Anders back on the boat. What if he gave another? What if he meant it? Did he mean it? Would it be enough for give Anders a reason? He liked the mage, not the spirit. Maybe Anders needed to know that, as much as Fenris needed to know that the spells within him could be undone.

They were packed the next morning and hiking out into the bitter winter cold once more.


	14. Holy Frozen Terror

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The trip had been without incident (no fighting, no darkspawn, no attacks from locals or Templars or bandits on the road, not even wild animals), till now. Thus is the nature of winter while most attackers are too busy freezing to be fighting. The fervent and the desperate rise from the darkness at the worst of times. But the true enemy is winter itself.

Anders ran like the Blight had risen to hunt just him. Branches cut his face and snagged on his sleeves. He fell in the snow several times, encumbered with both his pack and Fenris’ and his staff. He looked back hoping to see Fenris. But it was dark. He pulled himself up and hid between two bushes. Fear stopping him from running farther. He didn’t want to be lost in these woods. He didn’t want to lose Fenris. He didn’t want to be caught by the Templars. He covered his mouth with his gloved hands to muffle his whimpers. His mind reeled with the flashes of the recent fight.

Fenris struggled to not stumble on his cold feet. He roared in fury at the bandits surrounding them. Flash of lyrium. Blood mixed with snow and mud on the narrow road. Swords clashed again. The clanging echoed off the tree line. He phased like a ghost to avoid a second gash. The first already seeping hot and sticky down his leg. Each breath stabbed painfully from what mist be a crack somewhere. Magic coursed familiar through him, over him, bolstering his stamina.

Anders too was surrounded. Lightening and force blasts. The bandits had come out of the dark forest on either side of the path in the night at them. Justice rose under Anders’ skin. His staff swept and swung. He straddled their supplies trying to protect them. He slammed the butt into a helmet, hearing the ringing as the bandit staggers and fell back. The other flipped as the staff flung up a foot.

Fenris cut through armor, flesh, bone. He pivoted gracefully. Phased. Roared. Gutted another man. A swift glance to Anders. Sight blocked by new foes. Templars. An arrow grazed his brow.

Anders tracked the trajectory and encased the archer in ice, tree and all. Magic and nerves grew frantic at the sight of Templars. He still had a fight before him and now Templars were joining in. Just what they needed. An apostate attacking people. Anders knew their thoughts already. It would not matter that the bandits attacked first. He threw a quick heal at Fenris, but it fizzled short as the nearest Templar cast a smite on him.

Fenris ended the last bandit and turned Blade of Mercy mercilessly onto the Templars. He felt Anders magic abruptly vanish. Felt the sense of it gone. Even the sense of Justice.  A small sea of heavy plate armor walled him off from his mage. He started to tear through them with sword and claws.

Anders resorted to his staff ad a physical weapon out of necessity. He was afraid, to the core. He wanted to run away but couldn’t risk losing Fenris. He was more afraid of being left alone. A steel gauntlet reach past his parry and grabbed his throat. He was hit by a stronger smite. Blood sprayed suddenly across his face. A heart convulsed outside the Templar’s chest in a ghostly clawed hand. The Templar crumpled.

Fenris commanded, “Cut through the woods! RUN!”

Anders grabbed both packs and his staff and bolted into the darkness.

Fenris spun and faces the last two Templars. Two were not six. He had survived six… not well, but he had. Two would die before he would ever let them have Anders.

Anders cringed in the bushes waiting. Too afraid to go on. Too afraid to go back. Cut off from his mana and from Justice. A flicker of blue light almost past him and backtracked. Fenris reached down and yanked Anders to his feet.

The woods settled into deep silence. Their breath puffed between them. Fenris lead the way through the woods till they reach the other path. It was the path they should have taken. They had just missed the cut off in the dark. The Warden way station was close and seemed like a salvation at the moment from their wounds and the cold.

As the adrenalin dropped, the cold seeped in. They struggled to get the fire going without Anders magic that usually helped. Anders remained silent for the couple hours it took to lock up and warm the place, as well has treat wounds. He sat on a stool and dabbed at the cut on Fenris’ brow. The leg was already bandaged enough to hold for the moment. A healing potion soaking into the gash.

Fenris watched impassively. The mage’s face was still splattered with blood. It seemed shades paler than usual. Lips thin and pressed in concentration. Anders swallowed often. Fenris’ gaze lowered to the mage’s throat. He removed his clawed gauntlets and reached up to touch at the bruising forming on Anders’ neck from the choke hold. But Anders backed out of reach, not ready to be touched. Fenris understood. He had days like that.

Their night was quiet. Their meal was quiet. “We cannot stay here long,” advised Fenris. “The Templars will figure out to look here. I do not want them to lay siege on this hut.”

Anders snorted. “Siege… on a hut.”

Fenris stood and started to put out the candles.

“No! Don’t… please. I can’t take the dark… not… not tonight.”

Fenris left one candle lit, on the mantelpiece. “That Templar smote you hard. How long will it last?” Part of him secretly hoped it would last days, weeks, months even. He wanted to find out who Anders was without Justice or magic.

Anders shrugged. “Hours. I should have my mana back by morning.” He laid down to try to get some sleep.

Try was the operative word. Sleep was very relative this night. Those night terrors returned in full force. Fenris had to fight Anders awake from his screaming and pleading. Ragged tight breaths shuddering for many minutes before Anders realized where he was and with whom before drifting fitfully back to sleep only to be plagued again barely an hour later.

They hit the road first thing in the morning. They camped out of sight. They sometimes snuck into a barn to sleep. After more nights of screaming terror in the night, they didn’t bother sleeping in barns. It woke everyone, including the farmers. Fenris never got to find out much about who Anders was without spirit or magic. All he managed to figure out was that Anders was scared, practically to death. From careful listening, to the frightened babbling and whimpering in the night, he learned things that were no less horrifying than what he witnessed among the poorest treated slaves. No wonder Anders ran so often. No wonder being a Warden was considered a joy ride. He stroked Anders hair to soothe him to sleep. They pressed close because of the cold.

It took a whole week before Anders had a semi-normal night where his nightmares were quiet and more related to darkspawn than to Templars, where Justice did not dominate to smother the terrors. They bantered and argued as usual. Fenris wanted to be at the city. He was cold. Anders would nag him to dress in the warm clothing and boots, bundled against the winter weather. Fenris would argue that he would not be able to fight. It was now an old argument for this winter, made more bitter as the temperatures turned biting.

They resigned to using the main road for the potential opportunities of fining a roadside inn. Fenris had a harder time keeping up and his stubbornness made Anders worry. Stubbornness that had Fenris snarling for the mage to NOT touch him. “I need to heal you, Fenris. You are getting frost bite. Fenris, please…” Fenris hurt and was too internally distressed. Anders did not understand. Anders pointed out a building in the distance, a large one. “I think that is an inn. Let’s not camp and head straight there.” His decision was a risk, but he felt it riskier to camp. If Fenris curled up to sleep now, he might never wake from being so cold.

They trudged slowly onward as night fell. Anders clutched his cloak tightly and turned to look back every few minutes to make sure Fenris was still following. Fenris had stopped talking, stopped thinking. He was afraid before. Too afraid to articulate even why. Now he was too cold to care. He could not feel his feet or his fingers or his face. Did it stop being cold out? It was dark. One foot in front of the other. The thought was there even though his body stopped obeying. So dark. So quiet. The bed was white and fluffy and soft.

“FENRIS!”

Anders’ yelling was not heard by the elf fallen in the snow bank by the roadside.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fight scenes are definitely NOT my forte, but I tried a new writing style for this one and hope it worked.


	15. Battling the Tapestry

“FENRIS!”

Anders’ yelling was not heard by the elf fallen in the snow bank by the roadside.

The mage dropped his gear and staff by the elf and turned him over. Lips were already blue, fingers white and immovable, along with feet. Fenris wasn’t even shivering, but he breathed, shallow and slow. Anders carefully removed Fenris’ sword and backpack. After a quick juggling of supplies, managed to get the sword into one enchanted pack and then that pack into the other. It was testament to the fact that their supplies were dwindling. He shook off his cloak and manoeuvered the elf onto his back while still crouched. He used a scarf to tie Fenris’ hands together so the piggy-backed elf would not slip back. Then he wrapped the cloak around them both and slid his staff as a cross-bar seat under Fenris’ thighs. It made it easier to carry him. Last time Anders had done this, he was and carried one of the smaller kids back from a climbing accident in the snow. All Anders kids learned this. Drilled into them the moment they were old enough and strong enough to carry someone else. They also learned how to carry someone too heavy to piggy-back. Anders shifted his weight and grunted loudly as he stood under the new weight of the elf on his back and the overloaded pack strapped to his chest.

The wind bit fiercely in his face the rest of the night, but he dared not stop. One foot in front of the other. He fixed his goal on the inn in the distance and refused to stop. Fenris’ life was on the edge. Every fifteen minutes, Anders cast a small heal and revive to try to keep Fenris alive. He was almost spent of mana when the inn manifested in the now blowing snow. Anders could have kissed the door when he saw it. Almost did, but to do so might have stupidly frozen his lips to it. He recalled that embarrassment that he and every child in the Anderfels experienced at least once in their life, sometimes got cajoled into doing a second time. He pushed inside and set the elf onto s bench near the door. Adjusting his pack again, he uncertainly weighed his choice. Call someone to him to demand a room or avoid the attention and go to the bar and ask. After encountering Templars earlier, he decided discretion was warranted.

Anders placed three gold coins on the bar drawing the innkeepers full attention to the very high sum. “I need a room, a single small room that is warm, has its own bath with cold water, and food supplied in there for three days.” The innkeeper glanced at the near dead elf. “He’s with me. He’s… I need to try to save his life. I owe him. And this more than covers what I have asked for. If he survives this and you can provide what I need, I’ll not ask for any of it back.” Anders collected a key and glanced down the back hallway where he was directed. He did not want to leave Fenris for a second. “A copper to your boy who can carry my things there. I will carry my friend.”

As it turned out, the boy was actually a girl, plainer looking that the wood, sturdy as Aveline. She got the fire going in the room after putting the heavy pack onto a chest that rested at the end of a large bed. Anders eased Fenris into the bed and helped her fill the stone tub that was built into the side wall next to the fireplace. She looked back at the unconscious elf and back at Anders. “I’ll bring strong brandy to thin his blood.” Before she opened the door she spoke in a hush, “There are Templars downstairs. Mind what you do. They leave in the morning.” Anders gasped at her. She knew. She knew he did magic. He almost panicked. She opened her palm and a tiny flame flickered for a second and he realized she had lit the fire in the fireplace without flint. “You are safe, but no serious magic till morning. You are in Templar protected lands now. Be careful. I’ll be back with food.” She opened the door and left while Anders still gaped.

He was so preoccupied he did not even LOOK if there were Templars there. Right. Heal Fenris with NO magic, nothing till morning. He stripped off his layers till he was in just his pants and a shirt. He did the same for Fenris, getting him out of his armor. Then, heedless of their clothing, he carried Fenris to the bath and got in with him to hold him up. He shivered in the water and with an even colder elfcicle against him, but ignored it. The girl came in and set food and tea and a kettle and pot and food for three days locked in. She then set a couple bricks by the fireplace to heat “For under the mattress to warm it later… when he is not so cold and just needs to be warmer. Good luck saving his life.” She left and the door clicked locked.

They sat in the water for hours. Anders’ finger pads had wrinkled, but he did not care. Every few minutes, he would cautiously massage the elf in his lap and move the water around them. Fenris’ feet and hands thawed slowly in the water. Sometimes Anders would clinically explore the elf’s crotch with concern. He pressed the heel of his hand above the pelvic bone, placing pressure on the bladder and sighed in relief that it did not feel hard. If there was urine in the bladder and it froze, then there was little Anders would have been able to do to save his friend’s life. Frozen, crystallized urine would destroy the bladder irreparably and the internal solid cold would freeze and damage other internal organs for a long and slow painful death. The thoughts made him squeeze Fenris close against his chest. “Don’t die on me you stubborn fucking elf.”

The dull dark grey of pre-dawn crept through a break in the curtains of the window. Anders hauled Fenris up and out of the tub. He dried them both off as best he could and then stripped the elf of the remainder of his clothes. Anders arranged Fenris on the bed where he could better assess the elf’s condition. Breathing. Cold. Pale. Unconscious. And still unresponsive. Bottom line… alive. Alive was good, right? He wished for more. This was much worse than the hyperthermia from falling into the waking see. Anders stripped off his own clothes with a pause. He had never consciously been naked with Fenris in view. It was a short pause, because he knew what had to be done, regardless of his personal anxieties and discomforts. He climbed into the bed and buried them both in the blankets.

A knock at the door made Anders heart skip then race. “Morning!” called the girl from last night. “Serve the Maker well this morning.” She walked on down the hall for her other morning duties. Anders let out a breath in a rush, having held it.

By Andraste’s burnt toes, he was tired. He rolled out of bed and collected some bottles of lyrium, a bowl, a couple healing potions, and a rejuvenation potion from their packs. That he places almost under the bed where he could easily reach them as needed. Then he threw back some over-steeped tea with a grimace and inhaled some of the cold meal. He slid back under the blankets and pressed himself against and around the warrior to allow his body heat to continue what the cold bath had started. He took a small sip of the rejuvenation potion to rouse his focus. With a hand over Fenris’ abdomen, he called upon his healing magic and explored the elf’s condition this way, healing internal organs, genitalia, lungs, limbs, and digits. It was the first layer of healing and it drained him over the hour from the unbroken outpouring or mana. Fenris was out of the critical stage, at least. But this was still not a comfortable ideal. Anders pushed himself a little more to make sure ears and nose no longer showed signs of frostbite. He slept the next few hours with Fenris cold as a corpse wrapped in his amrs.

When he woke, he started again with his healing. He even started to try to rub some circulation back into those limbs. He babbled nonsense just to hear something other than shallow breathing. When Fenris started to shiver uncontrollably, Anders nearly panicked. He downed a lyrium potion and began healing again only to discover that the shivering was a GREAT sign. Fenris’ body was noticing that it was cold. But the cold still held the elf in its grip and Anders could tell consciousness would be long coming. He knew this was normal, but it did not stop him from worrying that maybe Fenris would never wake. What if his healing was too late? He shoved the unhelpful thoughts away and ate some more food. Then he had an idea. An unconscious elf would not react to the pain of internal bloodmagic traps.

“Evil magisters… here I come. I will show you why you should fear me. I will master and destroy your tapesty. You will have no power over him when I am through with you. Oh… and if I see you again, I will know your magic like a phylactery. And I shall deal with you as I deal with this weave.” He downed a second lyrium potion, pulled on a pair of sleeping pants, climbed back into the bed and summoned up all his focus. He sank his magic first into the lyrium brands and explored them before moving deeper and deeper till he met the weave. He studied it. He poked it. He followed the many threads. Then with a flare of spirit power, he began to shred it. Tearing away threads and burning them up. At knots of power, traps reverberated back along his connection to Fenris and coursing through him. Justice fought back. The room flickered lyrium and Fade blue intermittently throughout the process. He drank the last lyrium potion and turned the bottle over in the bowl to drain their last drops. He suffered near screaming agonies he only imagined must be what Fenris felt regularly. Anders lay exhausted beside Fenris for several moments. Once again, he pressed his nose into the elf’s cheek and turned his head to rub their cheeks together. “See?” he whispered. It’s soft now. I’ve been using that lotion.” He combed back snow white bangs with his tired fingers and touched a soft kiss to the elf’ brow. “Fenris…” Still nothing. A whole day and night… and nothing. He sighed.

He fed the healing potions and rejuvenation potion to Fenris before resting his head on the pillow beside the placid elf. With delicate touches, he traced the dark eyebrows, the firm bridge of the elf’s nose, the angular jaw, the long pointed ears. “I am sorry… I could not do more.” He forced himself up and rubbed Fenris down till he knew color returned to paling limbs. Color and blood flow. Life and health. He collapsed, snuggled close and protective around the elf once more. He nuzzled his nose into Fenris’ cheek. “When you wake up, I am going to have such words with you…” He bit his lip and then pressed his lips softly to that same cheek. “Wake up soon.”

“Here we go again.” The sun had set hours ago. “I am going to free you, my love, if it kills me.” He licked the bowl clean of lyrium dregs. Anders dove back into that tapestry to rend more of it apart. This time he added some healing as well for he knew there must be pain from the lyrium burn and trap reactions, needing sometimes to heal even himself. The bloodmagic did its best to kill Anders for interfering. Justice alone prevented death. Only one very strong set of binding magic held against Anders and he was too exhausted to do more. He wasn’t even aware he had passed out from all the effort.


	16. Fenris Wakes

It was the middle of the night when Fenris finally opened his eyes, his whole body shivering uncontrollably. Confusion mixed with cold, mixed with darkness and sparks in his mind, mixed with hot burning memories of jungle heat and people’s faces, and the sense of blood but not the smell. Oddly, there was no pain. He remained as still as he could, annoyed that he could not still his shaking. Slowly, his vision cleared to reveal a dark room with only the flicker of firelight from a fireplace. The heavy curtains were drawn against the chill outside the window and he then remembered snow. Snow… freezing cold. He gasped. A moment of panic rolled through him as he remembered he had been so cold he fell over in the snow and pleaded for Anders to let him just… sleep. Anders! He felt the furnace of the mage’s natural body heat behind him. He inhaled sharply again as he had forgotten to breather for the seconds where he thought he and Anders had been separated. He frowned as realization dawned of his nudity, but the expression softened. He remembered drowning and freezing there in the water and this was how you saved the life of a freezing man… by slowly warming him with another’s body heat. He snuggled closer into the mage for warmth, trying to stop the perpetually cold feeling inside him and the shuddering that vibrated from his spine outward.

He turned his head and took in the room with his elven sight. It was not a way station. The room was too large and did not have the other telltale signs. There was a build in bath beside the fireplace, a small pile of firewood between the two. A short bench, more like a stool beside the bath, held a pile of thick towels. Across the room was a desk with supplies for tea and trays of food. Their gear lay dropped and strewn haphazardly near the single large bed. The curtains were heavy velvet and thick furs covered him over thick quilt blankets. This was an expensive room. By the sound above the ceiling, there was a room above them where a couple were fucking hard and loud. Fenris wrinkled the bridge of his nose.

He rolled over carefully, noting that the mage’s arms draped heavily over him. To his relief, Anders wore sleep pants. The mage seemed deeply asleep, so he risked a moment and snuggling face first into the mage’s chest. If Anders woke, Fenris would say he was warming the front of him since the back of him had already been warmed. It was not a lie, just not the whole truth. Fenris would never admit out loud his secret craving to sometimes be the one who is protected instead of the one doing the protecting, curling small and burying his face into the chest of someone else, held in arms that can be strong too. The warmth seeps into his hands, his nose, his knees. His shivering finally abated as he felt comfortable and normal, no longer as if the snow had gotten inside his skin. In retrospect, he thought that maybe the lyrium was like metal and froze sooner and stayed cold longer. He huffed into Anders chest, annoyed with himself for his foolishness to not listen to the mage, the healer, who clearly did know what he was about regarding Fereldan winters.

The blond tightened his hold and mumbled, “Mrf… fnnnn… Fen? Fenris?” But he did not really wake, drifting back into deep sleep. Fenris lifted his head to study the mage. Dark circles under those eyes, washing out the fair freckles Fenris thought were supposed to be there. Blond locks that were feather soft, felt slightly damp. Pale skin, a bit too pale and slightly clammy.

“Mage… Anders… what have you done?” Fenris shook Anders to force him awake.

A whimper and a whine of complaint. Amber eyes blinked blearily back at the elf. “Wha? Grnumbrfff. Uhm… I… Saved your fucking stubborn ass from freezing to death.” The hug tightened further. “You almost died,” Anders mumbled into Fenris’ neck. “Then … I got mad… and while you were out… I tried to tear apart the magical bindings in you. But… I… too much… too tired… it was too strong…”

Fenris strained trying to make sense of the words. “How long have I been out?”

“Two… days? I think. If… if… oh sheizen…” Anders rolled away from Fenris and staggered from the bed. With what little mana he had regained, he heated the water in the bath and staggered back into the bed. “If you can… eat, drink, and have a hot bath. Then… come back and sleep with me.”

Fenris was quite sure Anders was not fully coherent. He just heard the mage ask him to sleep with him. The air in the room was much cooler than under the blankets. The invitation was, well, much more inviting by comparison. Then he felt the gnawing stab in his gut. A very empty gut that needed sustenance. He inched unsteadily from the bed and considered covering up his nudity, but the mage was already softly snoring, oblivious. He clenched his teeth as his feet stepped haltingly on the stone floor and sighed when he reached the desk with the food. There was a rug he could stand on. He drank a glass of water and nibbled some of the food off the plate. Not very much, he knew too much from days without would only make him ill. He ate just enough to ease the hunger pains. He willed himself then to walk the cold stone floor again till he reached the bath. He tossed a couple logs into the fireplace and then touched the water of the bath. It was still quite hot.

He eased himself into it, sinking completely under for as long as he could hold his breath before sitting up. He loved baths like this. Though he preferred the smooth marble tubs with dwarven plumbing. While he lounged, allowing the hot water to warm every part of him, he stretched and spread and clenched his fingers under the water. His last memory was of not being able to move any of his fingers at all. He did the same with his toes. His last memories included yelling things at Anders, thing he did not mean, things in a language he was unsure Anders knew, hoped he didn’t know. They were among the cruellest and vilest things. His eyes drifted over to the sleeping mage, his expression softening into something like regret or unspoken apology. Shame creased the elf’s brow.

When the water cooled, he climbed from the tub and dried off. Then he stilled. He had been out for two days. Anders had been digging around in the mess of blood magic within him. Fenris should be in agony, or at the very least should have been woken in agony every four hours he was still. It was a revelation that maybe Hawke really was right, that maybe Anders really could free him after all. He tested his brands, illuminating the room brightly and then releasing the power. There was no pain, not even from that. He marveled at the discovery and spontaneously moved through fighting and training exercise forms. Then heedless of his nudity, he rushed to the mage, “What did you do?! What did you do to me?! They… the brands… ANDERS! The brands do not cause pain!”

Plaintive grumbling answered him as Anders rolled over pulling the blanket over his head. “I tried to fix you… now… let me sleep…” He peaked over the edge of the blanket to see an expression that made him wonder if he was in the Fade because Fenris would never look like an excited child. “If you hurt, then I would be a lousy healer. Get your naked ass back in bed and let me sleep.” With a flickering grin, Fenris pulled on his leggings and climbed into the bed. Anders rolled over again to face him and tuck the blanket around them both. “I am glad the lyrium no longer hurts you. Tell me the second it does and I will see what I missed. I just wish… I wish I could have gotten rid of all the bindings…. Then… ACK!” He yelped in surprise as the elf wriggled close and suddenly hugged him fiercely. Fenris pulled back uncertain and concerned. “Gentle. I am not unscathed from the efforts. Those fucking-Maker-damn-them-to-the-Void magisters and their traps.” Anders cautious took Fenris’ hand and encouraged him close and into his arms. “I’m really exhausted. I need rest… please.”

“Thank you,” Fenris whispered.


	17. Moving On

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Part of this chapter includes a gift writing I did for CaptainCritical. Snowed in for the Weekend.

An irritable mood, for Fenris, was a habit, a near perpetual norm. So when Andres woke to an elf sitting crosss-legged on the bed with a relaxed smile and holding out a cup of tea, Anders frowned skeptically and rolled over thinking he was still dreaming in the Fade.

Puzzled, Fenris looked down into the cup of tea and sniffed it uncertainly. No, it smelled right. “Mage? Do you not like tea when you wake up?”

Staring out at the room and hearing the familiar, if confused, rumble of Fenris’ voice, Anders waited till he was sure he was fully awake before sitting up and facing the strangeness of a comfortable Fenris. He yawned hugely as Fenris wrinkled his nose, then he accepted the cup of tea. “I take it that you are feeling better? Did you eat?”

“Yes, and yes. I saved some for you.” Fenris watched with a critical eye the mage’s every slow pained movement. “You are not so well.”

“Captain obvious has boarded the ship,” the blond quipped then sighed. He shook his head, “No. I am having a hard time regaining my mana. I know I am not injured… but… I feel lacerated and broken inside, like my mana pool is punctured full of holes. I can heal it, but I don’t have enough mana to do that and we are out of lyrium.” The tea warmed him and food actually helped his recovery. He still felt mana lo but less stabbed. He watched Fenris rise from the bed like a stretching cat. That is when he noticed that over the casual leggings, Fenris wore the winter pants and a long-sleeved shirt. “Can you move and fight and access the lyrium power without pain?

Fenris flashed him a half grin that could have been a sign of joy or could just as easily said ‘I am about to kill you.’ Anders found it delightfully sexy, but kept the thought to himself. Fenris stepped to the middle of the room to show how easily he could move as he executed some of the fight exercises holding an imaginary blade. His feet, still bare, slid wide to lower his center of gravity. His arms arced as he moved through the sword dance, very slow and precise.

Anders missed watching this from the railing of the mansion. Anders, or maybe Justice. Felt the lyrium song hum through him even before the brands fully lit. “Oh,” he breathed with pleasant surprise as it eased some of his own pain and filled his mana pool, which he immediately applied to self-healing and then just enjoyed absorbing more like fine liquor. Justice felt extremely content, perhaps even wanted more. Anders licked his lips, glad for the blankets covering his crotch.

“Oh?” asked Fenris with a raised curious eyebrow.

“Uh… your brands really do shine right through all clothing. I thought you were joking. You know, because they don’t shine completely through your spirit armor.” Amber eyes followed the lyrium lines from chin to toes and back up appreciatively.

Fenris willed himself not to move as he released his hold on the power, but red flushed through his face and ears. He decided he would never wear casual clothing in public without his spirit armor under or over. “Turn around, mage,” he commanded.

Anders pouted, “Aw… but I liked the view.” He turned anyways to allow Fenris some privacy.

Fenris stripped off the winter pants and replaced his casual leggings with his spirit armor leggings. He pulled the warm pants back on over the leggings and stuffed the casual clothes into his backpack. “We should be moving on,” he threw Andres one of his typical scowls.

This time Fenris bundled against the cold outside. He even put on socks and boots. Anders helped him with scarf and cloak and then bundled himself, offering over warm gloves. Fenris felt uselessly encumbered and tried not to waddle awkwardly. There was no grace mummified like this. Anders commented, “It is too cold to dress any lighter. We’ll hunker down for a bit once we get to the city.” He gave Fenris a sympathetic look.

They took to the road and continued trudging toward the city. At least the wind had died down and the sky cleared for a while. The sun shone colorless in the sky above. Sadly, it did not last. Two days later, the sky truned a molten steel grey heavy with the threat of more snow to come.

By that afternoon, they passed a way station with the Chantry Sun inlaid in bright brass upon the door. In an unexpected, or perhaps somewhat expected fit, Justice rose to the surface and took over Anders. They burned the way station to the ground in a fury of vengeful mage fire. Hours later, for it took that long, Justice calmed enough for Anders to come back to himself. Some mild confusion accompanied the struggle between mage and spirit.

Fenris suggested a smaller road through the woods that should get them closer to their goal more swiftly. He watched the mage carefully, feeling every nuance and change and shift of magic in his brands. He did not relax his vigilance until Anders felt as much like the usual Anders as Fenris thought was likely to be, but he recognized that this was an ever changing state. Every week, there was a little more Justice than Anders, much like back in Kirkwall the year before the Fall. Well, that gave him a time reference… of only about a year to save Anders from Justice.

They passed by an old house that looked long neglected and forgotten. It must have been some woodcutter’s home with a rotting roof, broken window and snow partially burying it on the lee-side, hindering access to the front door. Here they argued. Both cold. Both hungry. Both tired. Both out of sorts for a variety of reasons and night falling fast. Snarling at each other, they opted to walk on and set up a tent in the woods.

They huddled inside their small tent. Fenris resigned himself to pressing close to the mage. Anders had stretched himself out comfortably; hands tucked behind his head as he drowsily watched the roof of the tent darken with the heavy snowfall.

“Fenris, we’ll go back to that little run down cabin we saw in the morning.” The mage looked over at the shivering elf with some concern.

“I want to go now.” Fenris sat up in a rush and pulled on a second layer of clothing. He even pulled on the soft cotton socks and sheepskin boots Anders had gotten him in the last village.

Taking down the tent in a snowstorm was very tricky. It got rolled haphazardly and stuffed into an enchanted backpack. It took much longer to tromp through the thick snowfall on the ground back to the ruined cabin than it did to go from cabin to camp when they first rejected the cabin.

“I told you we should have just stayed there!” Anders gestured widely as he spoke, much as he usually does when he is annoyed. Anders ignored the irritable growl he received from Fenris.

Fenris hated being cold. He hated being bundled enough to be encumbered. He hated things on his feet like boots. He hated how everything got wet from the snow to chill you anyways. He hated the wind that seemed to cut through everything.

The cabin seemed already half buried, more so than when they first passed it. Anders had to use magic to blast away the snow from the door. One of the windows was broken, but the shutters at least kept the worst of the winter out. Fenris grabbed some of the logs from the side of the cabin, skeptical if they would even light with their rot and dampness, and dropped them again at Anders sudden yell from within. His brands lit and Fenris streaked to the doorway.

A corpse lay almost a skeleton on the sofa inside, a dusty wine bottle tipped over on the floor by the hand. “Oh… is that all,” Fenris drawled and headed back out for the wood he dropped.

Anders used a fraying blanket to wrap up the dry remains. “Well, at least it is so old it doesn’t smell! I wonder if he died of old age or was poisoned by the wine.”

“Who cares! Block the holes from the wind so we can sleep in some modicum of warmth in this vanhedis… Festan… COLD!”

Anders smothered a smirk. He didn’t quite know why, but it was bloody amusing listening to impotent anger from the warrior elf. He went about stuffing fabric into the warn holes in the wooden sides or roof or into the windows. He found a broom and swept the floor of glass and dust. Fenris piled the wood by the fireplace, tracking snow back and forth from door to fireplace. Anders spread his arms exasperated, “I just cleaned!” He didn’t see the corner of Fenris’ mouth curve in amused vengeance.

Once all was cleaned… again, both agreed that the body could remain where it was and they would just not use the sofa. Respecting the resting place of the cabin’s owner in their way. Anders blasted fire through the fireplace and up through the chimney to clear it and then got the fire going.

Fenris conceded the benefit of magic for being able to dry wood and create a warm fire. They stripped down to sleeping clothes in order to allow their winter clothing to dry by the fire. After dumping his pack and seeking a few items, Fenris stood at the intact glass window which had no shutters, just staring out at the heavily falling snow.

Anders unpacked all their gear and repacked it better, leaving out bedrolls and blankets by the fireplace. He rummaged around the little kitchen area and found a pot he could boil water in or cook in and hooked it into place over the fire. Anders looked over at the elf, who was out of his cumbersome clothing, and the much disliked boots, but wore the thick cotton socks Anders insisted he put on. Fenris was wiggling his toes in the soft socks trying to stir feeling back into them. The mage thought that was almost as adorable as purring kittens. Anders hung their wet cloaks on pegs on either side of the mantle to dry and lined their boots close to the fire. “Did you put on dry socks?” Anders asked.

The elf nodded from where he stood, still staring at the falling snow. He wrapped his arms around himself trying not to visibly shiver as he was still cold. Here in Fereldon, it was very different from where he came from. Minrathous was north, far north with deserts and tropical forests. Fenris just could not get used to this inclement cold weather.

Anders came to stand behind him, being a bit taller and definitely built with a larger frame, he easily looked over the tall elf’s shoulder. He noted the slight shiver from the warrior and frowned with a hint of pity. He tugged off his thick fleece sweater. “Here,” Anders pulled it over Fenris’ head. There was a brief snarl of surprise, a bit of wrestling and grumbling till the elf gave in and shoved his arms through the sleeves. Fenris turned his back on Anders again, refusing to look at the mage. Anders smiled to himself for the victory. He stepped back and asked, after giving Fenris a few minutes to calm down from the indignity of being manhandled into a sweater, “Better?”

Fenris grunted. Then he nodded. The sleeves were way too long, the shoulders too broad on him. It was like putting a child into an adult sweater. But it was blessedly much warmer, especially for having been prewarmed by Anders’ body heat. He sighed almost content and brought his hands under his chin, only the ends of his fingers stuck out the sleeves. That was alright, it kept his hands warm. He caught the front of the sweater’s collar in those fingers and brought it up, just under his nose. When he could hear Anders preparing tea and thought he was not looking, Fenris inhaled Anders’ scent from the sweater.

Anders saw. 

Anders smiled softly but said nothing to disturb what he witnessed. He quietly finished preparing tea. “Tea is ready,” he said some time after. “And your bedroll is even warm.” He stood and stirred the fire, not telling Fenris that he had been sitting upon the elf’s bedroll to warm it.

Fenris turned away from the window, his mood significantly milder now that he was no longer freezing cold. He accepted the mug of tea and sat upon his warmed bedroll.

Anders watched him briefly, “Sleep with the sweater on tonight. I don’t need it.” Fenris nodded and murmured a quiet thank you. “I think we will be snowed in for a bit, so tomorrow, we’ll see what the cabin has to offer. I’ll warm the sweater throughout the day and you can wear it again tomorrow evening.”

They sat quietly together, sipping tea and watching the fire.


	18. Open Honesty

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Winter crept by and only now, close to solstice, they truly start to open up to each other while snowed in at an abandoned forest house.

They moved through a strange new routine by the second day snowed in this little ruined forest house. Anders used magic to keep the snow from the doorway. Fenris found a shovel and cleared a path to the outhouse and the firewood. He grumbled skeptically at Anders when the mage suggested putting some old oiled burlap sacks over the holes in the room and them piling snow on the roof and backing it. But in the end, it made the little house warmer with fewer leaks. Anders called it stop gaps not solutions. He was a master at stop gaps. Fenris need only remember the fraying and falling apart clothing Anders wore the past six years to know.

Inside, they still left the desiccated corpse to its resting place, grateful it did not smell. Anders cooked and Fenris read the last of last journal, the one he had finished while on the ship. Fenris had stopped reading out loud except for words he had trouble with, like hyperthermia. He snorted derisively now and then. Anders shadow blocked the light over the last page and the mage let out a squeak. Fenris looked up.

“I forgot I wrote that! You were not supposed to read it!”

“Too late,” the elf rumbled. He set the book down beside him and took the proffered dinner plate so Anders could sit with him. Fenris tried to be nonchalant about what he read, but it was all about him and recent. Most of that journal was recent. Bits from the time after Anders moved into Fenris’ mansion and these last pages from their trip on the ship to Ferelden. “You ask several questions about me in the journal. It will not answer them and guessing is not always correct or thorough enough. Would you like me to answer them?”

Anders blushed a little this time. “Sure,” he replied so that they would have something to talk about.

“I made a promise to Hawke a very long time ago before meeting you. A promise to watch the mages in our party very closely for signs of weakness that they are succumbing to demons. I had meant Bethany at the time as she was the only mage. Then it included Merrill. And then we met you. You needed watching more than the others. You struggled more than the others. I did not like you much back then. I was too wary and distrustful of mages. And you were already possessed. Later… Hawke and you were together and I tried not to interfere until your behavior changed and worried everyone. I failed you both when I let my anger and jealousy get in the way to watching as closely as I should have been. Otherwise, I would have noticed you in the Chantry. I would have seen you planning its demise. I know now that Elthina advised you to do it, but back then… And then when Hawke left, he bade me find you and keep my promise. Now I do so because… we are friends… because I… care what happens to you.”

Anders dropped his eyes to the shared plate and poked absently at the food there. “Even though I am a possessed apostate? Even though… sometimes… I am more he than I am me?”

“Yes, perhaps especially. I see now that Hawke was right. You need me. I am not afraid of what you are. Not afraid of him and I can handle anything he throws at me. I was created to be able to deal possessed blood mages. I can keep you in check, or end you if I must. I prefer the latter and hope we can free you and him one day.” Fenris reaches over and touches with just a finger one of the places where Anders had been scarred. “This should never have happened. I do not wish it to happen again. It has defined you. Not the words, but the act inflicted upon you. I understand why you chose to join with Justice. It makes sense.”

“But I have twisted him into something… terrible”

“And I may be able to help untwist him. My brands remind him of the Fade, of who he is. And thus helps you to be who you are as he eases into dormancy and patience.” This was the other thing Fenris had noticed about his brands with Justice. “Now that you have freed me from the pain of my brands, I can claim them as my own. My strength.”

“Mine are just… hideous…” Anders pushed his food around without eating.

“I don’t think so. I think you are amazing because of them. You survived things no one else could. I can only respect you more because of them.” They nibbled in silence for a bit. “I am glad you liked the gifts I gave you.”

Anders smiled a little. “I wish I could have brought it all with me. But a whole apothecary…”

“Maybe one day we will both be safe enough and you can have one again.”

Anders’ smile grew, “I’d like that.”

“Anders?” Fenris asked once their plate was finally empty, “Do you mind that I touch you sometimes?”

“I don’t mind.”

“I do not mind that you … hold me sometimes… now that the brands do not hurt.” It was as close to an invitation as he could get without sounding as crass as Isabela.

“Are you… sure?” Anders was starting to doubt this was the Fenris he knew.

“Phah! Nevermind. Forget I said it.” Fenris stood, earns burning and took the dishes to the kitchen area to wash them in the basin of melted snow.

Yup, nevermind indeed. This was the Fenris he knew. Bristly, awkward, socially and sexually shy. Brazen at all the wrong moments and backing off when embarrassed. He’d been like this with Anders the last several days since the brands. Anders decided to try something different. “I would like to check the brands, make sure what I did is holding. Would you allow me to give you a full and proper massage?”

Fenris agreed. “Only if you allow me to return the favor.”

“You… can massage?”

To use Danarius’ phrase and claim it as his own, “I am very talented, did you not know?” He was rewarded by the most pleasantly shocked look on the mage’s face. That shocked look soon squirmed with discomfort and almost shyness. “I have already seen your scars. You need not hide them from me.” After a small pause he added, “You need not comply.”

“No. I think I am too curious.”

The corner of Fenris’ mouth twitched up and he started to unclothe himself. He kept on his smalls and laid on the thick blankets by the fire. Anders had him on his back first. Using a bergamot scented massage oil, he rubbed his feet. He added a trickle of magic and watched how it moved through the brands as he massages upwards. “Any pain?” Fenris shook his head at Anders’ question. Green eyes followed Anders’ every move. Or they did till Anders reached his face and then asked him to roll over. “So far, what I had done seems to be holding. Good to know Danarius’ magic doesn’t have a life of its own to regrow the vile things his apprentices had left behind, or that he had put in place.” He stopped and just smiles when Fenris hummed in contentment, muscles relaxing perhaps for the first time in so many years.


	19. Moving with the Song

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Erections are a natural experience in any man's life. Just Fenris is not used to this and has no idea what to do... worse is when Justice gets a little involved.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is dedicated to derekhawke from tumblr.

When Fenris opened his eyes again, he was buried in warm blankets. The scent of bergamot still clung to the air. Had he fallen asleep under the mage’s hands? He lifted his head to see that extra logs were added to the fire to keep the cabin warm through the night. Night?! Fenris sat up. Anders was curled in a tight ball twitching in the usual terrors. They were frequent since their last encounter with Templars. They were also often tinged with Justice. Fenris could feel the tingling shifting in his brands. Justice was like a constant very low hum he was used to from Anders, with the occasional spike when Justice took over. During night terrors like this, the tingling was erratic. He ignored most times, but since he had been freed from the constant pain, he seemed hyper-aware of the tingle of Justice. Fenris wondered if it was because the pain no longer dulled it out or whether Justice had grown in strength again. He tapped into the power of his brands knowing how it had started to soothe Justice and watched the effect it had on Anders. He worried that one day, there would only be the sense of Justice and no Anders at all.

Anders tossed and rolled and cried out, “Noooo… … No! I didn’t kill them…” He struggled in his sleep. “We shouldn’t…”

Fenris scowled. Anders was struggling, but not with a nightmare. He was struggling with Justice. He pulled himself up and shook Anders, ready for a fight. He got one.

Anders’ eyes flew open flashing more silver-blue instead of amber-gold. Justice echoed through Anders, “We did not free you as much as we did to be cooped up and hiding. There are Templars oppressing people in this area and yet we cower in an abandoned house!”

Frenris’ brands flared to illuminate the room. ‘We are only two people. Attacking an army of Templars is foolish, even if you can take out a dozen. What will happen if they smite Anders? Cut him off from the Fade and his magic?” It took much of Fenris’ strength to hold Justice down and try to reason with him. Reason with him? It was a gamble. Would the lyrium song Anders said Justice liked on Fenris enough to hold the spirit’s focus and calm him? To help reason with him? To maybe… placate him? In Tevinter, magisters found ways to please their demons and reason use out of them. Usually those things were terrible and slaved suffered for it. Torture. Violation. Sacrifice.

Justice turned fierce eyes upon Fenris. “I will still have power. You… restrain us. I thought you were supposed to help us.”

“Save you, protect you… not get you killed.” Fenris corrected. “I agree that mages outside Tevinter should not be made to suffer under Templar cruelty. But there are no Templars here. If we come across Circle, we will investigate. But you cannot repeat Kirkwall here. That was **unjust** to the innocent lives and to Anders, who now has to live with what was done and live in constant fear because of it. Go back to sleep, Justice. Listen to my lyrium song. Dream of the Fade. One day, you will be there again. Free. For now, go to sleep, Justice.”

Anders relaxed under Fenris, but it was still Justice shining through his eyes. The Fade energy and cracks in his skin diminished to normal, but the silver remained predominant in his eyes. “Your song is clearer Lyrium Warrior. We wish we could have completely freed you from the injustice forced upon you. Anders’ emotions are… complicated and confusing. He argues compassion and compromise. But we had been supported against those in Kirwall. Why continue to argue for them when they do not bring Justice?”

“Because they are useful. And in many cases can bring about justice, or are justice in and of themselves.” He could not believe he was holding a philosophical conversation with the spirit, a spirit that was behaving more reasonably and calmly that ever before.

Fingers traced the lyrium lines on Fenris’ chin. “This body feels things, reacts. We want to move with the song.”

 _We?_ A shiver ran down Fenris’ spine. _What does Anders want to do with me?_ Instantly his mind flashed back to the kiss on Athenril’s ship. He knew how Justice favored the ‘song’ of his lyrium brands. It had become a tool lately, now that it no longer hurt to use them, a tool to calm the spirit. And yet, here was a new and very awkward development. Fenris glanced down between them. Indeed. Anders’ sleep pants were tented. To Fenris’ frustration, so were his own. The slight touching did not at all help. Part of him wanted to recoil from the possessed mage, from the spirit. Part of him… craved… something… something more.

It took a moment for Fenris to find his voice, “I am unsure about moving with the song as you desire. Even if I did, it would be unjust to rob Anders of the experience or the privacy of that experience. Now. Go. To. Sleep.” Fenris released his connection to his brands and the room plunged back into darkness. He purposely stood, needing distance from Anders/Justice. He found a candle and lit it knowing Anders did not like the dark. The discomfort between his legs fading some. When he returned to his bedroll, Anders was peacefully asleep and the tingle of Justice had diminished back down to a level Fenris regarded as the new norm. At least Anders would seem relatively like his usual self. Offering Justice senses of Fade lyrium was the price he had one evening agreed on for the spirit to allow Anders to be a bit more himself. And well, at least one of them knew what to do with an errant erection.

Fenris grumbled with internal discontent. He knew what to do with it. Danarius found Fenris talented and flexible. He knew how to please Danarius with his mouth and tongue. He knew many positions and angles to be in so Danarius may sate himself. Hadriana had used him too, but she preferred control and her control was less graceful than Danrius’. For he stood, sat, lay, stiff while she fucked herself upon him. He had never been permitted any pleasure of his own with anyone or himself. Such attempts came with terrible agonizing punishments. Fenris shuddered at the memories, teeth grinding against the hatred. Hadriana was dead. Danarius… was not. He pulled his blankets over his head so just a tuft of white peaked out and tried to think of other things other than his former master.

What did Anders do when he had an errant erection? Fenris’ mind sifted through memories and landed on that time at the inn when they each though the other was asleep. The sounds of friction, a rhythmic rustling. The soft gasps and huffs. He knew the sounds of sex from serving his master. But Anders was alone in that cot and had been pleasing himself. Fenris grew annoyingly hard again without knowing what to do, what was allowed, if it would hurt. It frustrated him and embarrassed him, his lack of knowledge and experience, his discomfort. He squirmed under his blankets, debating going outside to kill the erection with snow.

“Fen?” Anders roused to the sounds of Fenris moving next to him. “What’s wrong?” he murmured tiredly. “Are you hurting?”

“No,” Fenris replied gruffly, ears burning hot. “Nothing’s wrong”

That Fenris used a verbal contraction told Anders otherwise. “Doesn’t sound like nothing,” he rolled over to face the elf and scooted a bit closer. “Here, let me see if I can help.” Anders rested a hand on Fenris tense back; a slight soothing trickle of healing magic explored the situation briefly. “Oh,” Anders gasped softly.

Fenris tensed even more and growled, “Make it go away.”

Blond eyebrows shot up, though the mage refrained from laughing. “I can’t just magic an erection away, Fenris. But there are things you can do… other than freezing it in snow.” He knew his friend had been going out in the middle of the nights to do just that and not to take a piss.

“But something is wrong! Wrong with me! It keeps happening… randomly. It is only supposed to happen at certain times.” He huddled in on himself, arousal and confusion and frustration all mixing up inside.

Anders sympathised. Poor Fenris likely did not remember this stage in his youth and thus likely never learned how to cope or deal with it. Now that there was no pain in the brands, his body must be sensitive to all manner of contact, finding pleasure on its own and muddling the poor elf’s mind. “Nothing is wrong with you. You are a man. You no longer have pain with physical contact. I know this has happened before. I’ve felt it against me. I know it has been happening more since I removed the spells that caused your brands pain. It, this, is perfectly normal. Something would be wrong if you never got an erection.” He tried to reassure the very embarrassed elf.

“Fenris. It happens to every man. Hawke woke up hard every morning. It is normal. It even happens to me. Though I take care of it because it sure won’t be taken care of by anyone else.” The naughtiest though crept into his mind of Fenris assisting him. He shook his head and went on explaining as he gently rubbed his friend’s back. “Boys start getting it around ten or twelve years old. Sometimes it results in what we call wet dreams, dreams of pleasure that end up with them waking having spilled their seed in bed. They learn to control their urges, adapt, ignore it away. But that takes time and patience… and is not fun at all.”

Fenris shot Anders a sharp look over his shoulder. “You are NOT helping” He turned back with a thump. Their talking was distracting him and the erection was fading, till the word fun and Fenris’ mind jumped back to the memory at the inn again and he cursed his fifth appendage.

“If you can’t ignore it, then take care of it. That is what I do. You do know how to please yourself, don’t you? You’ve touched yourself before, maybe as a boy, no? Masturbated in that lonely mansion of yours?”

“I don’t remember what I did as a boy,” came a confused mumble. Fenris fidgeted. “I was never permitted to touch myself while I was Danarius’ pet. He whimpered in humiliation. “I do not know what to do… make it go away…”

Anders had guessed some of that already, just wanted to be sure. Fenris was definitely missing what all boys learn in their teenage years. He made one more guess, “Are you afraid to touch yourself?” The white forelock bobbed. “Did Danarius hurt you if you ever tired?” Another nod. “Danarius is not here to punish you. And I certainly won’t punish you. You are free and allowed to feel pleasure by whatever consensual means you choose.”

He inched closer and hugged the blanket bundled Fenris to him, allowing his words to sink in. “You made me a promise when we were in that scary nook when the Templars boarded the ship. You promised me you would never force me, never touch me without invitation, never hurt me as they did. I extend to you the same promise. I will never force you, never touch you without invitation, and never hurt you as the Tevinter magisters did.”

Fenris looked over his shoulder again to see the promise in Anders’ eyes. His stomach flipped over and fluttered and he didn’t know why. What he did know is that he did not want Anders to stop holding him right now. He settled back down and nestled his back into Anders’ chest.

Anders chews the inside of his cheek, weighing how he felt about their options before voicing them. “I could show you what to do if you want… by touching you… or guiding your hand as you touch yourself… or walk you through it verbally… or… you can watch me…” This time Anders’ stomach flipped over.

“Or,” Anders continued with a tiny smirk that Fenris could not see, “you could think about how you felt walking through Darktown’s worst sewers, looking for crystallized urine embedded in piles of shit.”

Fenris rolled over and shoved Anders away from him, mortified. “You. Are. DISGUSTING!”

“Have you flagged then?”

Confusion skipped across the warrior’s face. Fenris glanced down and then grunted ascent.

“There… that is another way to get rid of it.” Anders yawned and rolled over “Fen… in the morning… I will consent to you massaging me. Then maybe… we’ll talk about self-gratification. Unless you get another erection before morning. You are allowed to feel good. Goodnight my lo… friend.”


	20. Right to Feel Pleasure

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Assisted masturbation.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> * This chapter is dedicated to derekhawke from tumblr *
> 
> * This chapter is seriously not safe for work… or public transit. I feel no shame in freaking out the person who read the draft over my shoulder on the bus as I was writing it. *

Fenris lay awake watching Anders. Had Anders really almost called him _love_? It was the affectionate term Anders had used when he was in his relationship with Hawke. Why did Anders not complete the word and switch to the word _friend_ instead? He tried to logically analyse the evening. Maybe not so logically. After that very awkward realization of arousal with Justice, and the lengthy conversation with the spirit, Fenris had to re-evaluate his perceptions. Justice, when not spurred by fury or roused by vengeance, was remarkably reasonable. Fenris recalled how Hawke used to talk the spirit down. Justice was the embodiment of a concept, powerful but also limited as that concept. Sometimes reasoning worked and sometimes brute lyrium force worked.

Human emotions, desires, and the juggle for balance in a complicated world confused such a spirit. Justice understood black and white, good and bad, wrong and right. Justice did not understand compassion, comfort or compromise, nor all the shades of grey. Fenris also realized that Justice was much like himself, thrust into a world without the social tools needed to properly function or integrate. He felt crippled and confused and sometimes lashed out. Justice did not know how to have a relationship or how to be a lover. Neither did Fenris for that matter. Justice wanted to go home, back to the Fade to be what the Maker made him to be. But he was learning from Anders the most baffling things. He discovered cravings, hatreds, fear, desire, hunger… arousal. Fenris chuckled to himself. They could be sexually confused together.

He sighed and buried himself under the blankets, staring at Anders back as sleep… just would not come. Likely because Anders had massaged him into slumber and he had already slept all he needed. He thought about what Anders had said. The mage was so at ease talking about arousals, erections and what to do with them, like it was perfectly normal. Maybe it was. Fenris felt abnormal so much of the time that he didn’t understand what normal was. He liked knowing he was normal and nor a freak. A man, like any other with bodily needs, like any other. It was refreshing.

Then he thought about Anders’ offer. So disturbing and so exciting at the same time. Fenris squirmed under his blankets. The fabric of his sleep pants softly rubbing against his sensitive bits. He bit his lip. And debated touching himself to see what it would feel like. Isn’t that what Anders had down at the inn? It sounded like it felt good, the sounds that had come from Anders were once Fenris wanted to hear again, wanted to make himself. Then Danarius’ threats echoes in his memory and he stayed his hand. Danarius like him hard but unsated. Danarius punished the slightest attempts at self-touching. He closed his eyes and tried to shut out his experiences with Danarius, tried to shut out the remembered moans Anders had made at the inn, tried to think of gross Darktown substances.

He almost laughed aloud as he realized Anders had been playing with him about the Darktown stuff. He smirked to himself. It was good to know that Anders still had a sense of humor. Offering Justice moments to feel the Fade lyrium seemed to allow Anders moments to be a little more himself. Fenris tried not to worry that Justice might become addicted to the lyrium song, as others sometimes become, and take Anders over just to hear it.

He closed his eyes, relieved he was flagging again, but his dreams as he drifted were full of curiosity. His mind tried to recall what Anders looked like without clothing. It was in his head so Anders did not need to know. He had seen Anders only once… when he discovered the scars. Did Anders have body hair? He could not recall the details. What color was it? Blond? Even down there? Or was it darker? Was it feather-soft like the hair on his head? He rolled onto his stomach then partially farther over, squirming for more friction without actually touching himself. That massage Anders gave him. Anders hands upon him, gently and firmly kneading his muscles. There had been no pain, just comfort. His breath caught and huffed. What if that massage had truly gone everywhere? But Anders had been professionally chaste, respectful. But what if? His mind conjured the feeling of those hands wandering over his body. He moaned in frustration of not knowing what it might feel like, hands fisting in his blankets, unable to break Danarius’ rules.

A low growl escaped. _What is wrong with me? Why do I want him so badly? Maybe I am the one possessed._

The mage rolled over and mumbled, “Fen? Again?”

“It came back,” Fenris mumbled pitiably into his blankets.

“Do you want me to help?” At the bob of the snow-white head, Anders shuffled in close and spooned behind the elf. “May I… touch you?” Fenris tensed. “I will only guide your hand. Nothing more.”

“I… I am not allowed…” came a frustrated growl.

“Who says?! Danarius?” quipped Anders. “He. Is. NOT. Here. You are NOT his slave. Not a slave at all.” He took a slow deep breath to calm his anger at the magister. Justice stirred under the surface but did not rise. Calmer, Anders went on, “It’s ok… you are allowed.”

Fenris turned a little so as to press his back into Anders’ chest and be engulfed by the mage’s arms. He felt silly and stupid and weak. He wanted this over, but his body was aroused and determined and hypersensitive to even the fabric of his sleep pants. “Guide me,” he whispered.

They both sensed that a line was about to be crossed, one of the many that separated them. There was a pause to acknowledge that and to accept it, and to realize the trust that had grown between them. This was not going to be sex, not kissing, nothing like a relationship. This was assisting with a raw primal physical needs. And Anders had offered to help. The all too human part of Anders wanted Fenris, really really wanted him, wanted a relationship. But he knew how Fenris felt about possessed mages and this remained a barrier. He wanted to be wanted back wholly and honestly.

Anders placed a hand on Fenris’s shoulder and waited. The blankets remained between them. Anders kept himself that the elf was having an intense confusing moment and this didn’t really mean anything but trust between them. The elf tensed at the contact, the anxiety passing little by little as Anders ran his hand down the elf’s arm. He stroked chastely like this to soothe Fenris. It took some effort to refrain from nuzzling affectionately to add to the soothing. Anders liked contact and cuddling, and more. He moves the blanket down to Fenris’ waist, baring the shoulder and chest. He wanted to kiss that bare shoulder, trace those lyrium lines with finger… or tongue. He wrapped his arm over and pressed his hand against Fenris’ chest, hugging the elf to him for several long slow breaths, till he felt Fenris almost breathing in time with him. He rocked them to lend to this rhythm of breaths.

His hand again stroked down that dusky arm, down to Fenris’ hand where he pushed his fingers through the elf’s, encouraging Fenris to let go of the blankets. “It’s ok, Fen. I will do nothing to you that you do not want. Say stop or no at any time… and I will stop.”

Fenris opened his fingers, amazed that this offer was given to him. Hawke never said any such thing. Hawke had assumed consent. Fenris had consented, but Fenris did not know he could say otherwise at any time. Thinking back, Hawke would have stopped too, likely, if Fenris had asked him to. He allowed Anders’ fingers to lace with his own. The elf swallowed nervously. Anders remained still and quiet till Fenris drew their linked hands to his chest. It was reminder to Anders that Fenris too have been a victim of violations. The difference between them was how they coped. Anders was outgoing, extroverted, rebellious and used sex as a tool either to rebel or to endure. Fenris was very private and introverted, shy by nature.

Fenris felt Anders hug him again before guiding their linked hands in slow gentle strokes down Fenris’ torso. Anders’ breath brushed Fenris’ long pointed ear on every exhale of ever murmur. “This is your hand, your touch. No one else’s” Again Anders guided the elf’s hand down chest and abdominals. “Every muscles, every bone, every line of lyrium is yours. Beautiful. Strong. And free. Free to feel. Free to be.” On the third guiding pass, he coaxed Fenris’ hand lower as the elf’s breaths cam in shakily and left in long huffs.

Fenris’ fingers brushed over the waist of his pants past his stiff member and he gasped in surprise. Sensation. Pleasure. Fear. He held his breath. No hand struck him. No jolt of lightening. No searing pain forced through the brands. Just surprise and something warm swiftly coursing into the lowest parts of his belly like fine wine. “Breathe, Fenris.” Fenris inhaled, but his exhale came out as a soft MMmmmm, rumbling like a purr.

That deep sound nearly undid Anders. He bit his lip hard to stay focused. Once again he rocked them, guiding the elf’s hand to stroke over the fabric from top to base. Then in under the fabric from crown to root. Each exhale was almost a groan.

“Anders breathed in Fenris’ ear, “Is this ok?” Fenris nodded to the question, fear ebbing in the face of pleasure. “Good. Does it feel good?” Another nod. “Explore it like a new sword.”

That was a well-chosen analogy that Fenris could understand. His fingers opened to do just that. Part of him hoped that Anders’s fingers might make contact as well, but the respectful mage was as good as his word and did not.  Fenris explored. This was nothing like bathing. He marveled at the texture and at the shape, the stiffness that was a mix of strength and softness, the rolling pleasure that came and went like waves.

Fenris could feel the mage’s breaths huffing in his ear in time with his own. It was heady. He curled his fingers around his shaft, Anders hand over his reassuringly. Anders pressed his hips into Fenris, guiding the hand down the shaft, “Thrust,” he murmurs. He rocked back drawing the elf’s hand back up the shaft. Then leaned in again, “In… and out…” Anders buried his face into the back of Fenris’ shoulder, his own need growing intensely distracting.

Fenris soon lost himself to this rhythm, no longer needing guidance. Some things were instinct once triggered. This… was as old as the Maker. He could feel Anders’ own stiffness behind him. That too was exciting to know he stirred these feelings in the mage. And yet Anders made no move to remove clothing or the blanket between them. The pressure… the friction… the heat… the heavy musky scent in the air… damp breaths on his neck and shoulder. It was all delicious. It felt like it was all his. He wanted… “more…” He didn’t even realize the word left his lips.

Anders pressed hot soft lips behind the elf’s ear. “Yes… I want… I will give you more.” He answered as he moved his hand a little and added to the sensations, fingers moving through the small collection of hair at the base of Fenris’ shaft, gripping the root gently. He pressed into the elf’s back to encourage the pace to quicken.

Fenris rolled into the new rhythm, growled and charged through it with impatience. He cried out his release, brands flashing in reaction, before Anders could catch up. Fenris shuddered erratically. Then he felt Anders pull away. The sense of reject invaded the elf’s chest and he turned to apologize for his selfishness. He was met by a warm smile and flushed cheeks.

Anders licked his lips, still hanging on the edge of such a rise. As those green eyes met his uncertainly, he asked, “May I… finish myself?” Fenris seemed confused and embarrassed. There was no privacy in this one-room forest house. “It’s ok… you can watch.” Anders privately liked being watched. Fenris could not look away as Anders closed his eyes and reached into his own sleep pants to take himself in hand. Expert fingers knew their task. His moth opened in the quick gasps he took. He was so close. It was over in moments.

Yes, they crossed some lines, yet not. They had touched, but not really, People had needs, or so Anders justified it to Justice. The release felt wonderful after so much stress. Pleasant euphoria.

Fenris blushed was he watched the motions and the expressions of ecstasy, unguarded, free, pure. Anders wore a smile after that Fenris had never seen before and felt like it was a secret just for him.


	21. Giving Up the Ghost

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just thought I would lead up to something related to the fic subtitle of: Of Snow and Silence. This... is snow. And some cuteness.

The two slept well and deeply for possibly the first time in months. As usual, Fenris was awake first and changed out of his pants feeling exceptionally gross. Last night’s activities proved messier than he expected and he felt disgusted with himself. He washed from a basin of water, donned clean pants (even putting the socks back on), then scrubbed his sleep pants and hung them by the fireplace. He added a few logs to the fire to warm up the run-down cabin.

Anders started to move in his sleep and whimper. Fenris looked over, sensing the rise of Justice. Anders was struggling again. The elf pushed up the sleeves of the sweater he still wore so he could press his hand to the side of Anders’ face and then stroke through the blond hair. He lit his brands as an offering to the spirit to coax it back. With relief, it worked and Anders stopped fussing in his sleep.

Later in the morning or more early afternoon, Anders woke to breakfast. Was that actually breakfast? He looked skeptically at the chipped plate of thick lumpy gruel that should have been looser and in a bowl. There was a mug of his tea next to it though, so he said nothing of Fenris’ poor cooking skills. “Thank you,” said Anders as he watched the elf wriggle out of the oversized sweater. “I’ll warm it again for you. Are you going out?” Fenris was pulling on his winter clothes, even the boots.

“Yes, I want to scout. The snow has stopped and we should be moving on.”

Anders pouted a little to himself, glanced at the desiccated corpse still covered tattered sofa. He felt oddly safe here. If the corpse could be forgotten, maybe they could too. He sighed. He knew this was not ideal. It really was not very secure. The cold still got in uncomfortably. And they were getting low on supplies. They would need to get to a town soon to restock. What cheered him was knowing they might make it to a town in time for the Winter Solstice. He ate the thick breakfast without complaint. He remembered starving in Darktown and well, Fenris tried. He pulled on his sweater to warm it for the warrior, smirking to himself about how adorable the elf looked in it. Anders would never day say it out loud. The words Fenris and adorable really should not be in the same sentence or thought, but… they were… at least in Anders’ head.

He watched through the window as Fenris tried to be awkwardly stealthy in his winter attire outside. The elf gave struggled through the deep snow and fell forward on his face. With a snarl and a flash of his brands, he tromped angrily off out of sight for a while then returned and worked out with his sword, having to rely heavily on his lyrium powers to gain smooth mobility. Fenris would be coming in soaked and freezing in few hours.

Anders cleaned up their dishes with some melted snow and gathered more snow to melt for washing and for dinner later. He hummed as he sliced up the last of their apples into the water in the pot over the fire and added some spices from a pouch. He set out the bottle of apple brandy as well and prepared sandwiches for their dinner, toasting the hot as Fenris came in and stomped the snow off his boots.

Ears twitched as he saw their packs ready by the door and the bedroll stretched by the fire. He had expected the mage to fuss about leaving, but he guessed that the need for food was reason enough to obey. He retracted that last word. Obeying was what slaves did. He was not master over Anders. He hung his winter gear by the fireplace to dry and paused. This time his nose twitched. “What… is that smell?” Curiosity heavy in his deep voice.

Anders smiled, “A surprise.” He glanced over his shoulder to see the great sword leaning near the door and the puddles of water all over the floor. With a sigh he shoved dry clothes over to Fenris and used a fraying blanket from the cabin to mop of the water of melted snow tracked in by Fenris. Fenris’ teeth chattered as he shivered. He changed swiftly while the bland was occupied. They were still so self-conscious about their own nudity with each other, perhaps more so after the lines they crossed last night. Anders startled the elf by pulled the thick sweater of the pointed ears unexpectedly. Fenris didn’t fight this time, just snarled a little at being manhandled.

Anders poured the liquid from the boiling apples into mugs and added a dash of the apple brandy. Then to the pot he added some sugar he had found in the cabin that miraculously had not been devoured by critters. Dark brown molasses sugar. Fenris raised his nose inhaling the strange odour that was starting to make his mouth water. He sat on a bedroll hugging his hot mug. Anders handed over a toasted sandwich and waited for Fenris to try his drink. A cautious sip because it was hot, then a second with a quick surprised look at Anders. Pointed ears went pink as the “mmmm” escaped his lips before he could keep his composure. Anders flashed a bright sunny grin. “That, my friend is hot apple cider. I am glad you like it. The apples I was saving were about to go off and you were so cold in the snow that I thought this would be perfect.” Fenris simply nodded, too occupied by the new flavors. Their dessert was the mush of the apples in the pot sweetened and spiced.

“Mage, I did not know so many things could be done with apples.”

Anders chuckled lightly, “And there is even more that you have yet to discover. We just don’t have the ingredients to make other stuff.”

“I had forgotten you could cook so well.”

Anders raised a brow at the elf incredulously. “Uhhh… this isn’t exactly cooking. And honestly, I am not that good. Have you been dreaming of Hawke’s camp cooking?”

Fenris barked out a laugh. “Maker his food was terrible!”

An easier night followed for them both. Yet it was a forced easy. After the previous night, they were not sure how to talk to one another really. They were not sure how close to get to one another. What if they touched? What if touching lead to something more? Neither were ready to really think about it.

They gave up the ghost in the cabin the next morning and started on their journey once more towards a town.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Of Snow and Silence... next chapter will be NSFW.


	22. Crossing the Line- NSFW

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You know they were bound to cross more lines eventually. This chapter is NSFW and yet... not exactly explicit per se. Enjoy!

They gave up the ghost in the cabin the next morning and started on their journey once more towards a town.

Their first night camping on the road again after the semi-spoiling of the cabin caused a mix of growling and grumbling with shoving and attempting to sleep as far from each other as possible. That resulted in them sleeping back to back much as they had when they first faces sleeping in a tent in the snow. Their second and third nights fared little better.

Anders shot bolt up in surprise on the fourth night from an elbow in the rib and the scent and feel or lyrium in the air. The elf tensed again and the lyrium flickered. Anders never thought Fenris suffered nightmares. If he had, it was always so quiet. The elf normally slept so lightly and woke before anyone suspected any terrors of the night. But tonight, as the other nights, Fenris slept more deeply without the pain of lyrium burn or curses. Anders knew better than to startle the warrior awake. That could have fatal results. Also, he understood enough mind healing to know to wait for a nightmare to run its course. It did not take long before Fenris shuddered awake, teeth clenched and aching.

“You’re safe, Fenris. I’m the only one here.”

Fenris spun to face the blond. He threw himself back down and a distressed sound strangled out of him as he tried to bury himself in the blankets.

Anders laid back down and pulled the elf to him. He expected resistance but got none. “What did you dream of? May I know?” he whispered into the pointed ear.

“Danarius… taking control of me… And I was killing… I tried to fight it.”

“Danarius will not have you as long as I live. I will find a way to free you. I will. I promise, my friend. I promise.”

Sleep was slow to come but it came. Soothed by the heat of another body, by the slow stokes down the back, by humming that broke and faded as sleep claimed the mage. The Fenris hated feeling weakened by just a dream, a threat of something possible. And yet, did Anders not lived almost every moment of his life like that and still continue on? The heartbeat was strong under the elven ear. The warmth seeped into his winter chilled bones. The humming followed him into sleep’s embrace. That Anders never teased about sometimes holding Fenris in the night made it feel less embarrassing, more natural and comforting. It was, he found, what he always wanted anyways… to have that compassion directed at him.

Embarrassed is what Fenris felt hours later as he woke almost rutting into Anders thigh. He woke on the edge and about to bolt outside. He could feel Anders’ raging stiff against his hip. He rolled away from the still sleeping mage. With his back to Anders and checking often if the mage woke, he experimented with touching himself, finding what felt good and not, and finally bringing himself over the edge as quietly as he could. He wrinkled his nose, disgusted with the goo in his hand, and sat up.

Anders mumbled sleepily, “If you are … going to piss outside… rags are in the front pouch of my pack…” He only smiled to himself after the elf made a quick grab for pack, rags, and dashed out into the snow outside to clean himself. Anders rolled over and willed his own erection away. It was pleasant listening to Fenris but he didn’t want to distress the elf any further. Fenris was just starting to explore pain-free sexual explorations. Part of Anders wanted to crack open the bottle of apple brandy and celebrate. He closed his eyes and tried to go back to sleep.

Moods between them were more playful for the next couple days as they hiked and camped their way to a larger city. It’s lights showed in the distance as the sun set. Anders sat by the little fire he had made and did a quick count on his fingers. They would make it into the town by noon tomorrow. And tomorrow was Winter Solstice. FUN! Anders grinned like a kid.

Fenris liked that silly grin and wondered what thoughts prompted it. “I am going to bed. Are you coming, mage? The tent will not warm up with me alone.” He waited at the tent flap long enough to see baffled expression on Ander’s face. As Anders whispered to the fore that he thought the elf just flirted and oh how the world must actually be ending, Fenris guffawed with laughter within, letting the flap fall closed behind him.

Anders glanced back and decided to make this even more dramatic. He dropped to his knees in the snow, “Oh Maker! Hear me! I swore to Sebastian that when the world was about to end I would pray to Andraste. Blessed and fair Andraste! Please hear my prayers! The broody warrior has just flirted with me and even LAUGHED! The end is NIGH! If my soul can be saved…” OOF!

Fenris’ winter boot hit Anders in the back of the head. “Get in here. I’m cold.”

Anders chuckled to himself, picked up the boot and kicked snow over the dying flames of the campfire. Getting settled in the small tent was a struggle as usual, but bits of laughter resulted now and then from the efforts instead of grumbling. They ended up in a tangle of limbs under the blankets trying to get warm.

Only moments later, after shifting and squirming to get comfortable in the very small tent, did they both gasp and become very still. Pointed ears turned dark pink as they warmed with embarrassment. Anders chewed the bottom of his own lip in the long pause. “Fen, it’s ok. An aroused sexy elf is arousing to be near. We can roll over back to back if you prefer.”

Once again, the warrior stared with amazement at how Anders never took advantage and left the decision up to him. His dark eyebrows furrowed. He swallowed loudly. “In the cabin, you showed me how and that it was… alright.” The blond nodded. “You… touched yourself before me.” Pale cheeks turned pink this time as Anders nodded again, trying not to squirm in imagined anticipation. “Danarius… trained me to… serve. And used me for himself.”

Anders stayed very quiet, allowing Fenris this rare moment of trusting him to something so deep and secret. When the silence continued to draw out to the point of uncomfortable and they relaxed back to flaccid, Anders whispered between them, “I will never use you, Fenris. I am bloody curious what you can do, but I won’t make you. Remember. People have needs and you are free to explore them for yourself or with someone willing. I have needs too, so don’t be surprised if I react to you when you get stiff or rub me close.”

“You told me to never… never unless I really meant it.”

Anders had to think hard to remember that moment and why he had said it. It seemed so long ago. So much had changed between them this fall and winter. “Oh… the kiss. I am not kissing anyone who isn’t willing to really love me and only me. Not again.” The elf would not meet his eyes and he realized Fenris wanted to kiss him, or maybe he was just imagining that. “But I am not dead and can’t just go through life without some kind of … I like being touched. I like touching. I like the sounds you make.” He bit his lip swiftly to stop his mouth from running on and saying anything more he might not intend.

Uncertain green eyes shone in the near darkness as they searched amber ones they had no trouble seeing. Some lines Fenris could not cross because of what Anders said about love. Anders was not willing to risk his heart. There seemed to be something else that Anders was not saying, but Fenris did not know how to find it out. “So you do not mind when I… I … I do not mind when you are too.”  He felt himself grow stiff again as he thought of Anders’ words. “You like the sounds I make?”

The rare smile was followed by a rare soft laugh. “Yes. I do. Your voice is very rich and deep. I’ve already told you it is like purring. But it gets this incredible huskiness that touches my bones… like just now. Maker, you have no idea how fucking sexy you are!”

A throaty chuckle vibrated into Anders’ shoulder. Fenris realized that yes, they have crossed some lines and he wanted to cross more. He would respect no kissing. More surprisingly, he found he wanted Anders, the mage, the possessed mage, to cross the lines and touch him. Like before in the cabin, but… more. Then suddenly he was gripped by awkward panic as he did not know how to ask or what to do. He was reminded of his failed attempt to flirt with Hawke.

“I want so badly to touch you, you have no idea,” Anders saved him the social discomfort. He turned his head and murmured into Fenris’ ear, “Do you want me to touch you?” He felt Fenris take in a shuddering breath and nod. He rolled a little till he faced Fenris and hugged Fenris close with his supporting arm. “If it gets too much, tell me to stop and I will.” He waited for Fenris to meet his eyes to know he was serious. Then he used his free hand to explore what he has wanted to for years.

Anders started at the two lines on the elf’s chin and waited for the instinctual chin tuck to relax and allow him to follow the lines down Fenris’ throat. He turned his hand and brushed the backs of his fingers up the jawline, over the pointed ear, and into the white hair. He combed through the thick snowy hair a few moments before tracing his fingers down the back of the elf’s neck casing Fenris to shiver and suck in small breaths. His fingers continued down the spine to the soft skin at the small of the back where he opened his hand and pressed it flat. That flat hand then stroked slowly over Fenris’ side till he had to turn it and caress with the backs of his fingers again over the muscled abdomen. The dusky skin grew warmer. Anders wanted to taste it but refrained. He drew his fingers up the sternum, over the lyrium, and across to brush a hardening nipple.

Fenris gasped at the new sensation, locking it into memory. “Again,” he spoke in a rough whisper.

Anders repeated this slow pattern of his fingers along the same route almost marveling at Fenris’ reactions as much as Fenris was. He took more time at the nipple on the third pass, gaining twitches and an escaping groan that made him want to groan in response. Fenris clutches the fabric of Anders’ shirt very tightly. Anders coaxed the fingers loose and moved them to clutch the fabric of his sleep pants at his hip so he had room to continue his exploring. Fenris inched closer. Anders stroked down the lyrium branded chest, adoring the beauty of the lines and feeling deeply relieved that this contact no longer caused pain or trauma in his friend. Friends. Is that what they were? Is that what they have become? Or will crossing this line make them something more? Did he want that? Justice argued that this was not a good complication, that it was a distraction from what they should be doing, and yet… Justice hoped to hear the lyrium song again and wondered if the elf sang differently when aroused and engaged in intimacy. Maybe those thoughts were all Anders’ and not Justice’s. Anders shoved them all aside and ignored them.

He memorized the contours of every muscle and lyrium line from collarbones to hip bones. Then, as he listened to the long heavy almost strained breaths into his chest, he tugged the laces of Fenris’ pants and slipped his hand inside. The elf sucked in a deep sharp breath both of desire and surprise. It was not his own hand, guided or not, touching him now. Anders curled warm fingers around the hard shaft. Fenris buried his face into Anders’ chest. Their breaths came in time with one another as Anders’ found an easy rhythm. Oh Maker how he loved the sounds Fenris made as he struggled to keep quiet. A smile curled along Anders lips as he nuzzled into the white hair enjoying the act of pleasing his elven warrior.

Fenris leaned into the hand, seeking more pressure, more friction. He got closer and closer that soon Anders ran out of room for his hand. He pulled his hand free, hearing a plaintive whimper from the elf. It was brief and Fenris moved closer to rub against Anders directly. He heard Anders muffle thin moan when both erections found pressure against each other. The sound was a catalyst. Fenris pulled Anders against him hard and they began to rut firmly together. They groped over each other’s shoulders and panted into each other’s necks. Fenris snarled, hating the fabric between them but dared not stop the incredible sensations to remedy the issue. His snarl pulled a begging, “yes,” out of Anders. He snarled again as the rhythm grew erratic between them, desperate, intense. It boiled down low in his belly and fired through his muscles, as he tensed with the coming release and tried to hold it off. Anders chased that released with jutting thrusts for a few moments more.

They panted, trying to catch their breaths. Their breathing slowed, deepened, and they forgot it was winter out as they lay entangled, clothes damp with sweat under the blankets. The silence and the snow lulled them to sleep.


	23. Winter Solstice

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This chapter contains the ficlet I wrote for Cypheroftyr for Yule.

Dawn broke extra chill and clear in the morning. They packed quickly and started the hike down to the town. Fenris looked forward to possibly receiving messages from Varric, replies to the several missives he had sent out months ago. The weather warmed by noon and the deep snow found its way into everything till they reached the road. Fenris shivered from being wet and cold. Neither had mentioned anything about the line they crossed the night before. However, they both seemed more relaxed with each other. Shame the mood could not remain light, as they entered the town bustling with people on every street and especially in the common areas, like the market streets and the districts with inns and pubs.

“Must you be so dour?” asked Anders who walked with a slight bounce in his step, looking from one market shop to the next. This market had permanent store fronts which were decorated with holly and pine and various colored ornaments. He loved the festive feel.

“I’m cold. Everyone is loud. And it is crowded.” Someone in the crowd brushed Fenris’ shoulder in passing. Fenris glared at Anders, “You know I hate being touched by strangers.”

Anders steered them away from the crowded street over to an inn. It too was decorated, and had carols being sung from a stage in the main dining room. “It is Yule, the longest night of the year. Everyone is getting ready to celebrate the long cold night. We should celebrate too!”

“Bah! Why celebrate a time that it stays darker than any other time and colder than any other time of the year?”

Anders smothered his snicker as he knew laughing at Fenris would only end poorly. “It is not the coldest night of the year, Fenris. Just the longest. People in Fereldan celebrate it as a time of families getting together and exchanging gifts.”

“I have no family.” The flat statement had been spoken quietly.

“Me neither,” Anders reminded Fenris. “But we have each other.”

Inside the inn, the smells of rich venison wafted to them. Candles lit all over the room casting visual warmth, as well as the physical warmth from the two fireplaces. This place was also very crowded. Fenris almost backed out of it.

Sensing this Anders turned to him, “Why don’t you go sell the things we collected while I get us a room? We can celebrate in our room away from the crowds. There are other Yule holiday customs I think you might prefer.” He watched Fenris nod and slink back to the market. He then sought the inn keeper and arranged for a room on the top floor. Instead of retreating to it right away, he snuck out to one of the nearby shops and bought Fenris a book on holiday lore and a boring one of the Laws of King Alistair. He hurried back and arranged for hot baths in their room and shared meals. The baths were prepared while he arranged on the desk their steaming bowl of stew and covered the fresh bread so it would not stale while he waited. He cast a freezing spell into a bucket of water where he kept a jug of his surprize beverage chilled. Lastly he lined candles in the window. The small fireplace within the room was already very warm, but he added another log to it because he knew Fenris felt the cold far more easily than he did.

Fenris arrived just as Anders verified the water temperatures of the baths. He dropped his pack hard on the floor by the door and shrugged out of both winter gear and armor, grumbling about the snow and the cold wet feeling of his clothes the entire time. Anders kept his back turned as Fenris stripped and stepped behind one of the screens to sink with a sigh into the hot water. “Anders. This room is… opulent compared to what we usually take. Can we afford this?”

Anders stripped and slipped into the other screened-off bath. “If you sold our items, then yes, we most certainly can. It is Yule, and I figured you would appreciate something fancy this time of year.”

“I do not celebrate this cacophony.” Fenris scowled at the floor as the merriment below could be heard through it four whole floors up, albeit muffled.

Anders smiled with amusement knowing the smile could not be seen. “I know. I meant I thought you would appreciate something higher class as it will also be far more quiet and private. All the cheaper places are packed like Darktown.” He heard Fenris groan and curse in Tevinter something undignified about Darktown.

Fenris amended, “I… I do appreciate it, mage. Thank you.” He was out and dried and dressed long before Anders. He paced the well-polished floor, enjoying the smoothness under his bare feet, as well as the warmth. Oh how he hated the boots. Hated the snow that managed to get in through the tops. Hated when the soft cotton socks got soaked. Then, with a glance over his shoulder to be sure he would not be caught indulging (as if he would get punished as he would by Danarius for this), he stepped onto the thick fur rug by the fireplace and wiggled his toes in its softness. He retreated to the desk as he heard Anders drying off and dressing behind the screen.

Anders stepped out, hair damp and tied back, clothes clinging to a somewhat dried body, and gave Fenris a very warm smile, “You are most welcome, Fenris. In the Anderfels, when I was little, we used to hold vigil on the longest night. We would light candles and take turns guarding them till the sun came up. The candles were always kept in the windows to be a beacon to anyone lost on the darkest night. No one should be alone on this night.” He lit all the candles in the window. “And since I had spent a year in solitary… I can’t bear to go through this night alone or in the dark anyways.”

Anders gathered the bucket and motioned for Fenris to bring the tray of food. They sat, of all places, on the floor, on the soft fur rug by the fire. “We would tell stories, make crafts, feast, and just share the quiet with people we care about. I like the fun and festive colors and songs and gifts of the Fereldans, too; but I also like the quiet privacy of the Anderfels’ Yule custom.” He lifted the covers off the food and they shared the stew between them, dipping the hot fresh bread in it to sop up all the liquid.

“Oh! And another Anderfels custom that I really think you will like is wassail.” Anders had to explain it a little as Fenris had no idea what that was. “It is a sweet milkshake. Mmmm… Spiced with nutmeg and cinnamon and vanilla…”

Fenris interrupted, “What insane custom is that to drink a half frozen beverage in freezing cold weather?”

Anders poured some from the jug into a mug and warmed it with his magic. “You drink it warm. I just didn’t want it to sour while you were out. And I didn’t even get to the best part of the wassail ingredients.”

Fenris was already taking a curious though cautious sip when his eyes lit up and shot Anders an unspoken question.

Anders grinned broadly. “Rum.” He sipped his own mug to appreciate the taste, but knew Justice would not allow him much.

They sat quietly, enjoying the fire and digesting their excellent meal for several hours. Then Anders moved the tray and refilled the mugs with the wassail. Maybe Justice could allow him just one more. It would not get him drunk to have two. He returned to see Fenris looking so strangely that Anders grew concerned. It was what? Bashful? Fenris?

“Here,” Fenris thrust out his hand. In it was a small box with a ribbon around it.

“You… got me a gift?”

“If you do not want it…”

Anders plopped down like a child and plucked the gift from Fenris’ hand. He undid the bow trying to ignore the fluttering butterflies in his stomach that should totally be dormant or dead by now. He lifted the lid. “Ohhh… Fenris.”

Fenris reached up and uncertainly touched Anders’ right earlobe. “You have a hole there, I thought you might have once had an earring and might…” He squirmed a little. “I thought…” he wasn’t sure what to say. He was terrible at flattery.

“I love it!” Anders held up the small gold loop with a small green bead. “I’ll be right back.” He headed behind the screen to the bath for a cloth and the small mirror that was there. He bit his lip as he forced the earring into the mostly closed hole in his lobe and promptly healed it with magic, then wiped any blood that the act might have caused. He headed to his backpack for salve and the gifts he got for Fenris and returned. “How does it look?”

Fenris watched Anders like an unblinking cat. The earring catching his eye and the corner of his mouth curled. “Good,” he answered.

Anders placed his gifts in Fenris’ lap. Fenris was not really into gifts, but Anders knew from Hawke how much he liked to have very special things just for him that he could call his very own. Anders flopped on the fur rug to watch as Fenris opened each book and found his name in the front.

_For my dearest friend, Fenris.  
~Shon Dalenhauften of the Anderfels_

This Fenris stared at a long while. Not only had Anders managed to secretly find him books he would like, something new to read now that he was uncomfortably resorting to reading mage texts and inn menus. But Anders gifted him with his full and true name. He knew from his time with Danarius that names had power and no one gave away their true full names lightly. “You… trust me this much?” He asked softly.

“I do,” Anders confirmed, wishing he could convey more in those two words, if only Justice would allow. He fiddled with the earring in his ear smiling absently. “Will you read the lore book out to me?”

“We… we could have our own Yule custom,” Fenris shyly suggested. “I will read to you. And you... sing for me.”

“I like this plan.”

Fenris dropped his eyes down to the pages of the lore book and began to read aloud. He paused with a frown as Anders pulled up a pant leg to rub salve into his aching knee. He continued reading slowing till the end of the first story. “Now, you sing. I will tend to your knee.” He moved in close and lifted Anders leg over his own so the knee bent gently. He flicked Anders hands away and took over.

The blond looked up at the ceiling not really looking at anything, sifting through his mind for a good song. He settled on a fun ballad what challenged his vocal range and felt very proud that he managed it without too many mishaps.

“Why do you not sing more often? You have an exquisite tenor voice.”

Anders chuckled with a little embarrassment, “And here I thought you could not flatter.” The elf’s ears burned red. “And singing was reserved for the Chant in the Circle and when I escaped… I sang in inns, pubs, brothels. Brothels loved me best. I could sing, I could heal secretly, and I could fuck and be fucked rather well. As long as no one took off my shirt, I did whatever. They hid me and fed me and gave me a bed of my own and even money.” Anders shrugged, “When I joined the Wardens, there were lots of people who sang all sorts of stuff, so I saved singing for special occasions and sometimes would sing for Nathaniel when he was doing archery at weird hours to avoid people.”

“Were you and Nathanial… Howe? Were you and he?” Fenris was unsure how to ask without it sounding either rude or jealous.

“I wanted to. That’s why I sang for him. But he never took the bait. I really thought he preferred men the way he watched me sometimes, but I guess he was only interested in women.”

Fenris napped several hours listening to different songs sung by Anders just for him. Close to dawn, he woke and read another story to Anders till the mage was deeply asleep. Then he headed in the early morning when he could avoid the potential throngs. He found his way to the town’s postal building next to the Chantry and asked about any letters that might have arrived here for him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I pinkie-swear! There will be more to come. This was originally titled "Of Snow & Silence" and I recommend you read "Starkhaven Affairs" because they go together. This one got retitled "Of Snow" for nanowrimo. The next one will be "Of Silence," so watch for it.

**Author's Note:**

> Part 2 contains several works that had been gifted to others before they were entered into this fic. As those chapters appear, so too will their dedications. One chapter was written with assistance from cypheroftyr.


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